Manus Cruentus
by Kami1
Summary: Chapter one marginally revised. A very different take on the Great Saiyaman and Buu sagas that attempts to capture the heart of the "Gohan goes to High School" genre without excluding or misrepresenting any characters.
1. Prologue

Manus Cruentus  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.  
  
Prologue  
  
A sharp wind tore at Dende as he stood upon the pinnacle of the lookout's highest tower, violently ruffling the current Kami's cloak. The short green Namekian teenager pointedly ignored the atmospheric phenomenon. There were greater matters at present than his physical comfort.  
  
Dende abruptlty dismissed both the matters of the winds and the cacophony of pleas from the Earth in favour of the pitch black sky that robbed his eyes of half their powers of sight. He usually despised the night's existence, as the lack of light was nearly blinding for one accustomed to three local stars in the tapestry of the sky. However, tonight, as he sunk deeper into intensive meditation, Dende blessed the lack of celestial bodies in Earth's solar system. The void that darkness represented for Nameks, though counterproductive in most situations, was conductive to his rumination.  
  
Utilizing his gnarled staff -- imbued with mystical energies in ancient times -- as a focal point, the current guardian of the Earth spread his senses across the planet in its entirety; no flea, or even microbe escaped his inspection. Slowly feeling the spirits of every living creature wash over him, Dende felt no unusual presences. Every creature, being and spirit was in its rightful place.  
  
Gohan was staring dumbfounded at his mother, following the announcement of his impending education at Orange Star High, Krillin was being lectured by Juuhachi following his "accidental" dissappearance, just prior to the premier showing of "Barney and Friends, The Movie." Marron had been most dissapointed that her father had missed the film and if a killer android could endure such torture then her husband sure as hell would. Yamcha had just hit his one-hundred thirtieth home run of the year -- only seventy games into the season --, setting a pace that dwarfed any other baseball player the Earth had ever produced, or would in the years to come. Tien was sharpening his combat abilities, unknowingly going through a nearly identical kata to the one the prince of all Saiyans was practising feverently in his gravity chamber. Piccolo was meditating by his favourite waterfall and, finally, Gohan was standing behind him on the lookout, apparently seeking advice. Wait a second... Dende checked his senses a second time. He was detecting two Gohans and no Popo. Something was definitely wrong.  
  
Awakening from his meditations, Dende abruptly spun to face his long-time friend. "Gohan what's going on?" he blurted out as he stared critically at the young man before him. There was no doubt about it. The man was Gohan; no ki technique could copy a target's energy accurately enough to deceive a God. Unfortunately, the other Gohan's ki also seemed faultless.   
  
"How can there be two of you?" the Namekian prodigy concernedly asked his motionless demi-Saiyan friend, his brow furrowing in confusion. Dende began pacing in circles, desperately searching for an answer to the current quandry facing him. He inadvertently moved closer to Gohan in his random pacing and felt his danger sense blare in warning. "What the hell?" he thought to himself. "Gohan's never set off my danger sense before. Unless... No!"  
  
His forearm no more than a blur of motion, the second Gohan struck Dende forcefully with a series of pressure points, effectively halting any motion Dende could attempt by temporarily cutting ki flow in the Namek's body by more than ninety-five percent.  
  
"Simple Shiatsu techniques," the now obvious intruder muttered with an air of dissatisfaction. "Lord Ravanna was certain that this mud ball's Kami would be a threat. Too bad. I haven't had a decent challenge in centuries. I was really looking forward to confronting a worthy foe."  
  
Dende couldn't speak or make any significant movements, but his Namekian hearing still functioned and so he easily discerned the remarks the Gohan look-alike had made. His eyes, one of the few parts of his body he retained control over, widened imperceptibly. The man had said that he served Ravanna. He had yet to read all the literature dealing with the universal pantheon and its foes that Kami's library had provided, but knowledge of Ravanna was not hard to come by. Even many Earthling scholars knew the demon lord by reputation at the very least.   
  
As he felt his body telekineticly thrust towards the edge of the lookout, Dende forced his body, against its will, to face his captor, attempting to quell the fear and insecurity he felt, in order to present a strong facade to whatever had invaded the Earth this time. The lookout's tiles scraped across his skin, tearing and blistering the delicate flesh, but still he refused to yield. If he was going to die, the current guardian of the Earth would do so honourably and with courage. Fighting down the waves of fear that assailed him, Dende once again forced his eyes to face the Gohan impostor and, with a supreme effort, spat in the creature's face.  
  
A spiteful grin alighting Gohan's features, the impostor mocked the planetary God: "That was an amusing, if futile gesture. After all, all I need do is alter my shape and your effort and your courageous, little show will be rendered meaningless."  
  
Proving his words true, the creature turned its back on the Namekian healer and began to alter its shape as well as, impossibly, its ki. Turning back towards its victim, the shape shifter flashed another malevolent smirk in the direction of its prey, displaying small fangs to Dende. The Namekian guardian was stunned. The creature had become a mirror image of him right down to the identical chalk white robes and purple cape it wore! Dende was dumbstruck.  
  
"So how do you like my new form, guardian?" the now jade creature asked, derision tainting the normally innocently sounding voice that Dende had always called his own. Gazing down at the demoralized deity, the demon snorted gleefully. "And please guardian, keep the fear coming. Your anxiety is positively titillating."  
  
Once again firming his resolve, Dende simply stared at the monster before him and, finding his vocal chords finally responding to his instructions, spat at the evil that dwelt in his form: "I refuse to be your toy!"  
  
Features darkening, the monster replied with a scowl. "You dare refuse me, guardian. Fine. You've made your choice. I would assume that your Namekian physiology will require an additional two minutes to dispell the effects of my shiatsu techniques. That should give you just enough time for the pain receptors in your nervous system to become operative before you strike the ground. Have an enjoyable... and painful journey. Goodbye guardian."  
  
Wordlessly, the shape shifter proceeded to follow through with his threat, sharply kicking the Namekian teenager off the lookout. Dende had one-hundred twenty seconds to contemplate his situation. He prayed he could regain control over his ki, or atleast that his nervous system might not react as quickly as the monster atop the lookout had predicted. Unfortunately, prayer failed on both accounts. Rakshasa were never wrong.  
  
Another merciless smirk appearing upon his countenance, the Rakshasa demon practically skipped towards the lookout's living quarters, drunk on the fear and pain energy that he'd absorbed from the late guardian of the Earth in his last moments. He had secured the lookout for his master's arrival and as default guardian would be sure to make Earth more like his own home. Pain and death were not foreign to Earthlings, but in the next month -- the period preceding his lord's arrival -- he intended to make certain that every human became more intimately acquainted with the two inevitable parts of life. Darkness was descending upon the Earth and Obitus -- the Rakshasa -- couldn't wait.  
  
* Manus Cruentus means blood-stained hand in Latin. 


	2. Chapter One

Manus Cruentus  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.  
  
AN: This is a very marginally revised version of the chapter that   
  
essentially clears up a problem a few of my reviewers commented on --  
  
the lack of clarity in dealing with a part of this piece (the winged  
  
shadow). This issue has been partially cleared up, though my intention  
  
was, in fact, to be somewhat vague. I apologize for any confusion my   
  
error may have caused.   
  
Chapter One   
  
The suffocating darkness of the void consumed Son Gohan. Resplendent   
  
in his old mentor's -- Piccolo's -- gi he flailed desperately,   
  
recklessly seeking an escape from the ebony curtain that obscured all   
  
else from his vision. Attempting to blast away the opaque wall, the   
  
destroyer of Cell summoned his ki -- the outward manifestation of his   
  
spirit.   
  
Abruptly, his task was complete; a baseball sized cobalt blue sphere   
  
of highly focused energy lay in the palm of Gohan's right hand.   
  
Ajusting his hand so that it faced the area from where he assumed the   
  
darkness originated, Gohan released the ball of pure energy,   
  
momentarily causing a blue flash to alight his prison. Then, as   
  
quickly as the light from the ki ball appeared, the aquamarine corona   
  
vanished. The void had swallowed the energy completely, leaving only   
  
a Stygian darkness in its wake. Gohan was desperate. Then the specters appeared.  
  
All around the demi-Saiyan wisps of ghastly white air began to   
  
congeal, taking shape in humanoid forms: forms that Gohan found   
  
frighteningly familiar. The first figure to materialize was the   
  
former shinto monk, Krillin‚who appeared before his one-time student   
  
adorned in Saiyan battle armor, his head bald once again. The six   
  
incense marks upon his head were -- for the first time in five years   
  
-- readily apparent.  
  
Second, identical to Gohan in dress, an apparition of Piccolo   
  
appeared. The Namek's ever suspicious gaze roamed warily across the   
  
void, sweeping over Gohan critically, then, after a moment's   
  
hesitation, continuing in their analysis of Piccolo's surroundings.   
  
The sole eccentricity in Piccolo's appearance was the lack of his   
  
weighted training gear, apparently cast off in anticipation of combat.  
  
Then, finally, Son Goku made his presence known, but appearing as if   
  
thrust into a time warp. The concentrated muscle tone that had   
  
become apparent following his intensive training in one hundred times   
  
gravity had mysteriously disappeared and his eyes were far brighter   
  
the protector of Earth's son remembered. The amnesic Saiyan had shed   
  
his insecurities and power, returning to the naive saintly warrior of  
  
times before androids and aliens.  
  
Suddenly, all three of the legendary fighters surrounding Gohan   
  
tensed, as if anticipating an unseen danger. Simultaneously   
  
springing forward, Ma Jr, Son Goku and Krillin Chestnut charged at   
  
unseen foes, each screaming a single word that chilled their teenaged  
  
viewer to the core: "Gohaaaan!"   
  
  
  
Then, once again in unition‚ the three defenders of the Earth were   
  
anihalated.   
  
  
  
Son Goku was struck with a corkscrewing beam of energy, flying   
  
back to lie in an unconscious heap at his son's feet. At the same   
  
moment Krillin's charge abruptly halted, as he froze in mid-motion.   
  
With an agonizing scream, the shortest of the Z warriors flew towards  
  
the sky until, one hundred metres from the ground, his ascent halted.   
  
Krillin imploded with such celerity that he failed to even   
  
release a final wail. Finally, Piccolo halted his charge of his own   
  
volition, spinning ninety degrees to face an unseen assailant. Then   
  
the hostile blood-red energy of the twice fused warrior's foe began   
  
to tear at Piccolo's skin, ripping tiny scraps of jade flesh off   
  
piece by piece. With a terminal cry tainted with unfathomable pain,   
  
Piccolo collapsed into a pile of charred flesh and bone, the   
  
Namekian's fanged skull grinning at his student eerily.   
  
The aforementioned student of Piccolo simply stared for a single   
  
moment before breaking out of his dumbstruck stupor and releasing an   
  
enraged yell that seemed to shake the very fabric of reality. Son   
  
Gohansnapped.  
  
  
  
The heavens themselves seemed to open up before the man, as Gohan's  
  
barren prison shattered explosively. Raven locks lethargically moved  
  
upwards, tinted by a soft golden glow. Empty soulless eyes flashed   
  
teal for an instant, while the demi-Saiyan's muscles expanded   
  
exponentially. The feeling of barely surpressed power washed across   
  
the flowering garden that had replaced the void. Then, without   
  
warning, the delicate papier-mâché barriers walling off Son Gohan's  
  
inner power cracked and suddenly crashed down; waves of titillating   
  
energy washed across the teenage warrior's lithe form and the son of   
  
Goku embraced his titanic power completely. Nothing would stand in   
  
Son Gohan's way.   
  
  
  
In an instant, his hair and eyes ceased their wavering, definitively   
  
settling on immaculate gold and heartless teal. The very ground   
  
quaked, then cratered; nothing would withstand Gohan's fury. The   
  
explosion of the super saiyan's ki at his most potent crushed   
  
saplings, roses and all else that stood in the ever expanding aura's   
  
path ruthlessly, leaving naught but another desert in place of the   
  
once blooming garden. Son Gohan's ascension to the fabled second   
  
level of the Super Saiyan transformation was complete; he had   
  
destroyed his paradise.   
  
  
  
A desperate plea echoed in his mind, from a time where his actions had  
  
singularly paralleled those in the previous scene: "Gohan! Finish   
  
Cell off now!" Then, his own voice replied apathetically to his   
  
sire's request: "No. He deserves to suffer more for what he's done.  
  
Finally, a despairing scream joined the other voices, again oddly   
  
fitting: "Father, noooooooo!  
  
  
  
Springing awake like a loaded rocket, Gohan inadvertently propelled   
  
himself towards the his small room's high ceiling, striking the   
  
wooden surface with a resounding crash that echoed throughout the Son   
  
homestead. A deluge of sweat poured down from his forehead,   
  
drenching both his hair and bare chest. Collapsing back onto his bed   
  
with a groan Gohan breathed desperately, greedily sucking in every   
  
gasp of air possible. His eyes resting upon his brother   
  
instinctively, the demi-Saiyan's breathing calmed slightly; "Goten's   
  
here. It was only a nightmare, if a particularly disturbing vision."   
  
his conscious mind affirmed. "Everything is going to be okay." Despite his self-assurances, however, Gohan felt strangely certain that something was far from 'okay.' The half-Saiyan's subconscious insisted that nothing would ever be 'okay' again.  
  
* **  
  
Contrary to popular belief, demon lords of Ravanna's stature are not   
  
particularly interested in the corruption and torture of mortal souls.  
  
Most high-ranking daimons view the mortal kindreds as frail and   
  
short-sighted, useful only in so far as they possessed the ability to   
  
perform numerous elaborate austerities which strengthened demon-kind   
  
immeasurably.   
  
The corruption and torture of souls was generally deemed outdated, as   
  
more efficient methods of creating slaves, spies and cannon fodder   
  
were developed. One of these developments was the discovery of the   
  
Rakshasa sub-species of Bhutas. This division fulfilled the same   
  
role for Ravanna as his Kuang-shi servants had for countless millenia,   
  
save that the Bhutas bred more easily and were, therefore, far more   
  
expendable, if slightly less formidable. Both these demonic races   
  
had the innate ability to animate deceased corpses, flawlessly   
  
changing even the most pious hosts into loyal servants of their   
  
Rahshasa taskmasters.   
  
In modern times, within the confines of Hell, corruption and torture   
  
were generally deemed outdated. With the advents of telepathic   
  
knowledge retrieval and possession of recently deceased souls, the   
  
old methods were swiftly falling out of favour with the populous of   
  
Hell's deeper levels. This falling out of favour was both a blessing  
  
and a curse to the latest result of the newer methods.   
  
Erasa Pen had been shopping at a fifty percent off sale when Ravanna's  
  
advance scouts had discovered her. The lord of Hell's most extreme   
  
subsection had commanded the thirty warriors he had managed to place   
  
on the Earth to claim the body of a student who attended Orange Star  
  
High, in order to determine the exact capabilities of the planetary   
  
guardian's greatest hope: Son Gohan. The girl had simply been   
  
unlucky and entirely too chatty for her safety.  
  
The Rakshasa spies had infiltrated Satan City's most prestigous mall   
  
in hopes of discovering a student who attended the local educational   
  
institution. Verbatas –- an elite spy –- had chosen to simply ask   
  
around, utilizing his exceptionally handsome, contrived body to   
  
attract young females.   
  
Verbatas' gambit had been completely successful, luring a half-dozen   
  
Orange Star High students with his charming demeanor and appearance.   
  
Erasa was one of the girls who judged the demonic pseud at first   
  
glance; she paid dearly for her error in judgement.  
  
Deciding that the blonde girl would serve his lord's purposes most   
  
effectively, the Rakshasa daimon made blatant advances that even his   
  
love-struck following could not ignore. Within an hour, all the   
  
young women save Erasa gave up on the mysterious stranger, moving on   
  
to less promising conquests. Erasa, on the other hand, had decided   
  
that she had finally discovered true love; her fantasy was not to be.  
  
Now, six hours later, Erasa lay motionlessly in bed, but not with the  
  
man who had incited her yearning to experience just such a situation   
  
with him at her side. Instead, she lay as one entranced; her eyes   
  
were open, but glazed over, as one who lacked the desire to see and   
  
her limbs were completely rigid at the sides of her curvaceous form.   
  
Another strange irregularity in her appearance was the ceremonial   
  
dagger entrenched in her chest. The weapon pierced her heart, but no   
  
blood could be found on her and, even more fantastically the torn   
  
organ still beat strongly, as if completely undamaged.  
  
Abruptly, Erasa Pen's eyes closed tightly, her brows scrunching up in   
  
defiance of the invasion of her soul. Verbatas licked his parched   
  
human lips in anticipation; the girl was reaching the final stages of   
  
the transformation. There were only a few moments left before she   
  
would willingly join her new kindred. Finally, the puissant demon's   
  
task was nearing completion.  
  
The girl's resistance had –- for the first time in three centuries –-   
  
astonished Verbatas. The apparently air-headed, fool-hardy child had   
  
fought more valiantly against her transmutation than countless saints   
  
and mythic warriors in years past. The Rakshasa operative was forced   
  
to grudgingly respect the girl's will, if nothing else. Verbatas had   
  
misjudged the apparently simple minded teenager. That particular   
  
distinction was one few divine beings held. This Erasa Pen   
  
apparently had far more wisdom and inner strength than was readily   
  
apparent. She would make an excellent addition to Lord Ravanna's   
  
forces.  
  
***  
  
The peaceful atmosphere of the 439 mountain area had long erased any   
  
vestiges of Son Gohan's nightmares. All around the raven-haired   
  
demi-Saiyan, morning doves flitted through the clear blue sky in a   
  
perpetual chase after the unreachable sun; the golden orb's   
  
luminescence seemed to illuminate every vestige of shadow, leaving   
  
naught but a calming warm glow in the light's wake.  
  
A soft wind blew across Gohan's face from the south, ruffling the   
  
teen's hair and the cloudy material of his mount –- the flying nimbus.   
  
In response to the minimal breeze, the surrounding trees' leaves   
  
pointed north –- indicating the reluctant warrior's course.   
  
Only moments later, as Gohan's home and the wilderness were left   
  
behind, tall, rounded silhouettes appeared on the horizon; the   
  
skyscrapers were just within the young man's Saiyan vision, though   
  
atleast a kilometre beyond the reach of even the most eagle-eyed   
  
human. Curving elegantly around the rising sun, the innumerable   
  
towers framed the already immaculate setting flawlessly, somehow   
  
improving upon the perfection that was a beautiful sunrise. A   
  
contented smile alighted Son Gohan's features, gradually moving from   
  
his not-quite-innocent eyes to the teenager's mouth, where he   
  
presented the famed Son grin to the world. It was a beautiful day.  
  
Abruptly, the sound of gun-fire broke Gohan's idle contemplation.   
  
Glancing downwards languidly, as if awoken from a deep slumber, the   
  
hybrid warrior spotted a pair of police cruisers, each offering cover   
  
to a half-dozen officers from the machine-gun wielding bank-robbers   
  
who had assaulted Satan City's finest.  
  
With a frown at the disturbance, Gohan descended quickly towards the   
  
city's streets. In a way, the teen would have prefered to simply   
  
resume his pseudo-meditation, but as a child of Son Goku, helping   
  
people was as much a part of his nature as eating or sleeping.   
  
Shrugging nonchalantly at his predicament, the warrior flashed golden   
  
in a stunning display of power, utilizing an inconspicuous alley to   
  
hide his transformation from the nearby crowds; everyone was either   
  
worried or excited by the robbing of The Satan City First National   
  
Bank.  
  
His identity now hidden by a change of hair and eye colour, Gohan   
  
inwardly winced at the flood of negative emotions and feelings from   
  
his past that he utilized as a trigger for his Super Saiyan   
  
transformation. With practised ease, however, the young man quelled   
  
the disturbing thoughts with practised ease. The time to act was now,   
  
and after the Cell debacle that cost the eldest Son his life, Gohan   
  
would never fail to act again.  
  
Gohan observed the kis of the criminals. The thug's strengths   
  
appeared to be relatively low; the guns were their primary and sole   
  
weapon. Fortunately, for someone who equaled Freeza's third form at   
  
six years of age and crushed Garlic Junior at four, even a ballistic   
  
missle would rate a zero when establishing threat levels.  
  
Therefore, dramatically blurring to the robbers' position with a   
  
perfectly executed zanzoken, Gohan struck two robbers lightly on the   
  
sides of their necks; neither of the two miscreants would awaken for   
  
more than six hours. Then, at speeds beyond both the sight and   
  
conception of ordinary human beings, or maniacal ice-jin tyrants for   
  
that matter, the half-breed martial arts prodigy back flipped over   
  
his targets' stupefied figures, completing his task with uncommon   
  
utilitarianism.  
  
Then, abandoning his fellows after the new arrival's startling   
  
victory over some of the city's premier sharp shooters, the final   
  
thug attempted a desprate escape; he had his share of the money   
  
already in the beat-up, dark green truck the five criminals had   
  
commandeered. There was no way the glowing idiot could catch a   
  
moving truck, no matter how fast he looked. Glancing behind his   
  
vehicle frantically, the group's driver caught sight of his quarry.   
  
The stupid kid wasn't even looking at him. Increasing his speed to   
  
one-hundred fifty kilometres per hour, the thug laughed; his escape   
  
was assurred.   
  
Gohan would not allow it. Not even glancing at the speeding truck,   
  
the hybrid began charging up an invisible, low powered ki blast,   
  
pointing his hand palm-up at the fleeing vehicle. Releasing a yell   
  
that caused every human within a hundred metres to wince at the   
  
sound's sheer volume, Gohan utilized his ki with uncanny control:   
  
flipping and disabling the robbers' get-away vehicle without giving   
  
the man inside more than a minor concussion.   
  
Before the warily approaching police could reach him, Son Gohan   
  
impossibly jumped straight onto the peak of one of the city's largest   
  
towers –- the kilometre tall Cell Games monument. Then, sparing a   
  
glance and an unseen wave back at the stupefied spectators, the   
  
mysterious golden stranger turned towards the downtown sector of   
  
Satan City and flew off in a blinding flash of gold that could be   
  
seen anywhere within the city limits with ease. Numerous observers   
  
likened the explosion of light to a miniature supernova. Therefore,   
  
noone noticed a tall, dark-haired teen leaping off a nearby building   
  
following yet another rapid zanzoken. Similarly, the populace were   
  
blithely unaware of a similar flash of energy –- this time light blue   
  
–-, and the intense wave of sound –- caused by the aforementioned   
  
teenager as he shattered the sound barrier on his way to school.  
  
***  
  
To a martial artist –- a hero —- honour was of paramount importance.   
  
Without honour, every martial artist had the potential to be a   
  
mass-murderer.   
  
Since the creation of combat styles, the fact that the masters of   
  
these styles were threats to everyone around them, including their   
  
lords and patrons, had been obvious. Having a single person capable   
  
of defeating two dozen foes of equal strength and speed granted the   
  
individual incredible power. Though commanding highly potent   
  
warriors gave the warriors' lords remarkable power, they had to   
  
always be wary of betrayal. They ruled with powers beyond their ken   
  
and, therefore, lived in perpetual fear that those self-same powers   
  
would be used against them.   
  
As martial arts developed, each master bringing his style one or two   
  
steps further, the fear of the warriors increased exponentially. Now,   
  
utilizing shiatsu techniques, one soldier could disable another with   
  
a single, accurately placed finger. Additionally, the "ki users," as   
  
the mightiest martial artists became known, learned to manage   
  
impossible feats of skill and strength; they ran with equal celerity   
  
to the swiftest chariot, leaped dozens of metres straight up and   
  
hefted giant boulders as if the gargantuan rocks were little more   
  
than paper weights. Then, quite abruptly, a true ki user emerged and   
  
shook the very foundations of the ancient world.  
  
The man's name is unimportant, and long forgotten, but his   
  
significance remains unquestioned. The ancient monk –- following   
  
decades of intense meditation –- discovered what he felt had to be   
  
the true source of ki –- the energy that gave all animate objects   
  
life. With near impossible strain, the devout guardian of the   
  
birthplace of martial arts –- a Brahmic temple in India –- managed to   
  
expel his ki from the material shell it animated, accidently   
  
obliterating every living being in the temple, in addition to the   
  
structure itself.  
  
When the monk awoke and saw the devastation he had wrought, the   
  
saintly warrior sealed away all his ki techniques in his grief; no   
  
human could possibly control such power. Engaging in ritualistic   
  
suicide, the monk made every effort to conceal the true power of ki   
  
from the rest of humanity. Unfortunately, the sagacious monk forgot   
  
a detail that would change martial arts forever. His memoirs –-   
  
composed over the course of his meditations –- had not been destroyed   
  
by the explosion of unadultered power. So when a passing bandit   
  
discovered the ruins, the veritable manual to ki usage was his for   
  
the taking. The man's name was one that would live on in infamy for   
  
ages: Kansa.  
  
Within ten years, utilizing the new-found ki techniques, Kansa   
  
declared himself emperor of the Earth, destroying all who opposed him.   
  
The newly crowned emperor quickly moved to consolidate his power,   
  
claiming to be the child of a demon and king. Though many remained   
  
skeptical of Kansa's claim, none dared question him.   
  
Slowly, the former bandit became akin to a God. For five-hundred   
  
years Kansa reigned supreme, having adapted the power of his ki to   
  
slow his aging process to a lethargic crawl. Then, one day, a small   
  
cat person named Karin and an obese, completely black genie descended   
  
to the Earth.   
  
The chosen warriors of Kami, Karin and Popo were named both   
  
protectors of the Earth and avatars of the Gods by the people they   
  
chose to save. Trained by Kami himself, the two smote Kansa's armies   
  
in droves until they stood at the door of the aged dictator's   
  
fortress. In a clash of titans unlike anything that the people of   
  
Earth had ever seen, the undisputed master of ki confronted the   
  
rebellious duo and lost in an epic confrontation that spanned more   
  
than seventy hours.  
  
At the battle's conclusion, however, both Karin and Popo left   
  
wordlessly, summoned by the Earth's current guardian, after   
  
mercilessly slaying their mutual foe. For their actions, both   
  
received positions in the immortal hierarchy, as avatar of the god of   
  
death in Karin's case, and Mr. Popo became assistant to Earth's   
  
guardian.  
  
The liberated people of Earth had been forced to choose their own   
  
leaders and form whatever conception they could imagine to explain   
  
the strange events that had occurred. First, however, they chose to   
  
take precautions against the renewed martial arts orders that,   
  
following Kansa's reign, began to reemerge. They could not allow   
  
some self-proclaimed dictator to control the Earth again.  
  
With the goal of preventing similar occurrences to the former   
  
emperor's seizure of power, martial arts masters, philosophers and   
  
kings conferred with one another. The three factions all sought a   
  
solution to their current problem that would not involve the   
  
dissolution of the martial arts. Eventually, following weeks of   
  
deliberation, the groups came to a consensus. They created a system   
  
of beliefs and teachings that would hopefully restrain the hands of   
  
the arts' masters. The principal philosopher of that era christened   
  
the new concept honour. In years to come, honour would be what   
  
defined a martial artist –- not power or technique. Without honour,   
  
a martial artist was no more than a common criminal.   
  
Videl knew little of this history. The exploits of Karin and Popo   
  
were considered baseless myths in modern times. She did, however,   
  
know something of honour, and the conection the concept had to   
  
martial arts. The teenage girl understood just how honourable her   
  
father had become since his victory at the Cell Games. Mr. Satan was   
  
not a martial artist. Recently, the hero of Earth's daughter –-   
  
Videl –- had become aware of this disturbing fact.   
  
The time had been just a few days ago, as Videl's summer vacation was   
  
coming to a close. "Daddy's little girl" had been at a press   
  
conference, wherein she was busy being bored to tears, as her father   
  
began another monotonous monologue, chronicling his past triumphs for   
  
the surrounding news crews as if the smallest victory was the most   
  
monumentous moment in humankind's history.  
  
Videl had long accepted the fact that her father –- Hercule –- was of   
  
the opinion that "one small step for Mr. Satan was one bloody giant   
  
leap at warp speeds for mankind." Even so, the world champion's   
  
current narrative was utterly absurd in its complete irrelevance.  
  
The discussion had centered around what action should be taken   
  
concerning the recently freed colonies that the world emperor had   
  
finally released from his control, following more than a decade of   
  
complaints from the democratic body that had succeeded him. Somehow,   
  
the great Hercule Satan managed to bring up a moment in his youth   
  
where he met the world emperor coincidently and "saved" the man's   
  
life.   
  
In point of fact, Hercule had slipped, inadvertently knocking over   
  
the ruler of the world, causing a carefully timed assasination to   
  
fail, as a torrent of bullets fired through the space where, only   
  
moments before, the dog-man had stood proudly. Instead the bullets   
  
tore holes through Hercule's already substantial afro; Videl wondered   
  
if they hadn't instead struck his brain, causing the recitation of   
  
his countless moronic stories.  
  
With a few elaborations on the champ's part, in addition to some   
  
actions to increase the narrative's suspense, Hercule held nearly all   
  
his audience entranced with the embellished tale. That didn't change   
  
the fact that the story had absolutely nothing to do with the newly   
  
freed colonials.  
  
Quietly, as not to disturb the conference, Videl's wrist watch rang.   
  
The Satan City police force needed her talents apparently. "Thank   
  
Kami." the raven-haired, blue-eyed beauty thought. She wasn't   
  
certain whether she would have lasted another minute of listening to   
  
her father's speech. Limberly, Videl slowly stood up, reflexively   
  
stretching her muscles after sitting for the past few hours.   
  
Pressing a button on the device, the city's defender activated the   
  
communication screen, immediately hearing the chief's voice, as the   
  
short, flustered man appeared on the screen: "Videl, we need your   
  
help! A team of heavily armed robbers, wielding formerly imperial   
  
army weaponry have assaulted a group of armoured cars carrying a   
  
cargo of diamonds to the First National. We need you Videl! Hurry!"  
  
At the distressing news, the current champion of the Tenachi   
  
Boudokai's junior division sprang towards the doors of the stuffy   
  
hall, prompting numerous questioning glances from the politicians and   
  
reporters who had attended the conference. Videl ignored them.   
  
However, the teenaged crime fighter found the four security guards   
  
blocking her way to the crime scene significantly more difficult to   
  
brush aside.  
  
"Miss Videl" the closest, and most physically imposing, of the guards   
  
intoned, gaining Videl's chief ire and a glare for so much as   
  
speaking in the young crime fighter's direction. "You are not to   
  
travel to this crime scene by order of your father." Gesturing   
  
towards the world champion with his gloved left hand, the man   
  
continued: "Furthermore, it has been deemed unadvisable for you to   
  
participate in future law enforcement operations. You are the heir   
  
to your father's role as planetary guardian. We cannot have you   
  
needlessly injured or killed by some two-bit thug."  
  
The youngest Satan was beyond angry. Her glare redoubling in   
  
intensity, she unleashed a scathing retort; if looks, words or pretty   
  
much anything else besides physical contact could kill, the whole   
  
security team would have been greeting King Yemma at that that moment:   
  
"Exactly who deemed me helping people to be unadvisable. I don't see   
  
how letting others die fulfills my obligations to those people.   
  
Please... explain your logic to me. I find your conclusions...   
  
most unsatisfactory  
  
By that point in the rather one-sided argument, the security chief   
  
was on the verge of fleeing the ornately decorated room to which he   
  
blocked the exit. Peeking up at the fearsome creature who had   
  
roasted him alive with a few pointed remarks, he spotted her   
  
trademark scowl still present and flinched. The guard pointed at his   
  
patron –- the world's saviour; perhaps he could control his daughter.   
  
"It was his idea."  
  
Videl's head slowly, but no less menacingly for the motion's lack of   
  
speed, turned towards her father, who was preparing one of his world   
  
famous speeches to quell his daughter's impudence. Then he noticed   
  
the expression on Videl Satan's visage and gulped. This was going to   
  
be bad.  
  
The teenage martial artist met her father's eyes pointedly. If he   
  
thought he could protect his little sweet pea without her permission,   
  
he had another few dozen things coming; undoubtebly, most of the   
  
epiphanies would be accompanied by a sizable dosage of pain. The   
  
prodigal blackbelt cracked her knuckles threateningly. "Kami," Mr.   
  
Satan thought, worried about a fight with his daughter –- a fight he   
  
might lose, "She's scarier than Cell."  
  
Normally, the champion wrestler and grandmaster of Satan-ryu may have   
  
backed down when his daughter approached an issue with near fanatical   
  
fervor. Frankly, Videl scared him witless when she was like this.   
  
However, the situation was far from ordinary. Surrounded by   
  
countless reporters, on international television, the eldest fighter   
  
of the Satan family could not back down; his reputation demanded he   
  
confront his daughter.  
  
Summoning all his courage, Hercule met his daughter's gaze with equal   
  
strength and spoke flatly to his perpetually spoiled heir: "Videl,   
  
you are my sole daughter –- my heir. As such, you are more important   
  
than a shipment of diamonds or even a few dozen lives. We are more   
  
important than they are Videl. Only if we are alive can other people   
  
feel safe. My decision is final. There will be no arguments."  
  
Turning his back on his daughter, Mr. Satan left the conference   
  
abruptly. He had made his point. Not even Videl would dare defy him   
  
openly. Everything would be fine. Mr. Satan was wrong.   
  
A winged blue shadow descended on the world champion from the sky as he   
  
approached his jet black stretch limousine. Quietly, the floating   
  
being laughed to himself, remaining inconspicuous. "You know   
  
afro-man," the unatural humanoid stated as it hovered kilometres   
  
above Satan City, "we have quite a bit to talk about when you get   
  
home. I'm sure I –- atleast –- will find our conversation readily   
  
enjoyable. Unfortunately, I doubt you will share my sentiments.   
  
Retribution always comes to those who lie. Even if the inevitable   
  
takes seven years to arrive."  
  
***  
  
Three days after the abysmal conference, Videl was still fuming.   
  
"How dare he attempt to control my life like that!" She thought   
  
angrily. "Even worse, how could he condemn so many to injury and   
  
death to suit his own selfish needs. Martial artists are responsible   
  
for protecting other people. To do otherwise is to spit on every   
  
samurai who has sacrificed his or her life for the past five hundred   
  
years. Protecting the weak is the most essential part of Bushido.   
  
The world's champion and hero –- my father –- is bereft of honour.   
  
How dare he call himself a martial arts master."  
  
The heir to Satan-ryu nearly stomped past a huge crime scene at The   
  
First Satan National Bank —- completely ignoring her former comrades   
  
in the police force –- and stopped abruptly. The Satan City police   
  
forces were undeserving of her ire. Even without her, the valiant   
  
guardians of Satan City continued to fight criminals, constantly   
  
endangering their lives. No. Her friends in the constabulary   
  
deserved none of her fury and righteous indignation. Those feelings   
  
could and should be reserved for her father: an honourless traitor to   
  
his art.  
  
Following her new revelation, Videl turned to face the crime scene.   
  
Sure, she might be late for school if she watched the crime, but   
  
though fighting criminals was no longer an option, she had to assist   
  
her former allies in the fight against lawlessness somehow. Even if   
  
the only way she could assist was to offer encouragement to her   
  
friends, she would do so. Besides, if a criminal inadvertetly fired   
  
a bullet in her direction, any response from her could be labeled as   
  
self-defence.  
  
Finally, the teenage fighter appraised the scene of the disturbance...   
  
and blinked in disbelief. "No way..."  
  
Confidently smirking in the perpetrators' direction, a young man   
  
stood in the centre of the criminals, seemingly unfazed by the back   
  
and forth gun-fire that ranged over nearly a block between the two   
  
warring factions. Effortlessly, the young fighter –- glowing a   
  
lustrous golden hue –- dispatched four machine gun wielding thugs,   
  
apparently teleporting, or, perhaps, he was simply swifter than she   
  
could fathom.  
  
Then, with ungodly celerity, the mysterious stranger dispatched the   
  
final criminal. Somehow, the shining vigilante had flipped the thugs'   
  
truck so that the roof lay where the wheels should have. The   
  
preceding occurences were completely impossible, then the blond   
  
warrior took the insanity a step further.  
  
Leaping dozens of stories straight up into the air, the mysterious   
  
stranger ascended Satan City's tallest spire. Then, a blinding   
  
golden flash illuminated the city, alike to an exploding star. The   
  
man had vanished!  
  
Ignoring the pointless speculations of her fellow bystanders, Videl   
  
simply left the area, dumbfounded, but nonetheless deep in thought.   
  
The man who had appeared distinctly reminded her of the men at the   
  
Cell Games. Furthermore, from the few glances she had caught of him,   
  
he appeared to be little older than she was. He had also worn an   
  
Orange Star High badge, suggesting that he attended her shool. The   
  
black-haired beauty smirked at the deductions she'd made.  
  
If he attended Orange Star High, she'd find him, undoubtebly. Then   
  
she would blackmail him into telling her what happened at the Cell   
  
Games in truth and maybe even figure out how a boy her age could jump   
  
hundreds of feet, or battle Cell for that matter. The current junior   
  
champion at the Tenachi Budokai would get her way. Her plan was   
  
assured success. The school bell rang, shattering Videl' musing. It   
  
was time for school.  
  
The heir of Satan-ryu entered her classroom, ignoring a few slightly   
  
perverted comments about her body; she was used to them. Soon she   
  
would find that golden-haired idiot. Things would never be the same   
  
again. Videl Satan had no idea how right she was.  
  
AN: The plot is beggining to take shape. This is fun.  
  
Responses to Reviewers:  
  
Psycho-Ann: Thanks for the support. As for the averageness of this   
  
story as a G/V, I warn you, the narrative only gets more unusual.   
  
Dreamwraith: I'm with you on the Dende not being a coward thing.   
  
Just because he can't waste planets with a finger, doesn't make him   
  
cowardly. How many people do you know who would try opposing Freeza?   
  
Anyway, I love Dende and though he's dead for now, you may not have   
  
seen the last of him. He has a part in this story. He's out for   
  
atleast a chapter or two though. Glad you like the idea and thanks   
  
for your support. Also, I appreciate the one correction thing. I   
  
certainly have no problems with advice geared to improve a part of my   
  
writing.   
  
Kami Out 


	3. Chapter Two

Manus Cruentus  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Among demons, few truisms are held to be inviolable. Hell spawn are not particularly agreeable; nor do the denizens of Otherworld's one hundred and thirty six lower levels tend to trust one another. The primary reason for these facts is simple: in the 'dog eat dog' world that demons live in, the naive and trusting were always the first to face reincarnation (reincarnation is the result of a spirit form's 'death').   
  
Though this fact causes most preaching of ideals to be ignored or scorned, the mentality also resulted in a few sayings becoming universally accepted. One of these saying is "The only man who deserves complete trust is a dead one." The demonic entity currently inhabiting Erasa Pen's body -- a Karttikeya -- was one of this truisms strongest proponents.  
  
For that reason, when Erasa had first heard of a golden warrior with phenomenal power roaming the streets of Satan City, she had chosen to remain in her classroom. Many of the numerous rumours surrounding the new arrival were contradictory, ludicrous, or both. Certainly, the possibility that the Super Saiyan vigilante had worn rocket boots and carried a plasma rifle fell under the latter of the two aforementioned categories.   
  
The possessed teenager, therefore, chose to simply wait. Her ki senses -- which, though not infallible, were certainly more accurate a source of information than idle gossip -- had informed her that the demi-Saiyan saviour approached her classroom. Apparently, Ravanna's replacement for the Earth's Kami had done his job properly; Erasa would have many opportunities to observe her quarry.  
  
Abruptly, slamming the door with her arrival, Videl entered the classroom. Storing the information in her expansive brain, the demon grinned at her host's friend; there was no need to raise suspicion. Videl never noticed that the grin never reached her best friend's eyes.  
  
The daughter of Mr. Satan began to chat with Erasa absentmindedly. She hadn't seen her childhood confidant for almost a month and apparently felt the need to make up for lost time. The once bubbly Erasa answered with little more than grunts and single words. This time, the prodigal martial artist noticed her friend's abnormal behaviour.  
  
Waving a hand in front of her blond-haired friend's face, Videl asked , somewhat irritated, "Erasa, are you listening to me? What's wrong? Don't tell me you have another boyfriend." The way in which the youngest Satan spat out the word boyfriend made her disapproval startlingly clear. Erasa didn't appear to notice.  
  
"Sure Videl. That must be it," the demon replied absentmindedly. She had other things to think about of greater import than the brat's petty problems. Namely, she noted a suppressed power with the demi-Saiyan. The ki appeared human, but a strong magical aura was present that few of earth's inhabitants could generate. The being could simply be enchanted, but the demonic body snatcher knew of no spell that would leave such a strong residue. Furthermore, the creature's ki was flunctuating slightly -- that was what tipped her off that the entity could hide its ki -- suggesting either aggitation or amusement. The new arrivals would both prove interesting to investigate. Perhaps, the second individual she'd detected would even prove a useful ally.   
  
Videl interrupted Erasa's contemplation once more, beginning to rant: "What is with you and all your boyfriends Erasa. Its almost like you get a new one every week. I can't believe a friend of mind is so easy!"  
  
Erasa mentally replied, repressing the urge to snort: "Well atleast I'm not some frigid bitch."  
  
Then, cutting off Videl's rant, the classroom's door opened slowly, as if the person entering was hesitant. Conversation stopped, as everyone attempted to get a glance at whoever had interrupted the beginnings of their class. Son Gohan walked into the room.  
  
***  
  
Son Gohan hated school already. Unlike most students, who disdained either education or social interaction, the teenaged demi-Saiyan excitedly anticipated both experiences. The problem was that he could not discover the area that the school secretary had designated his classroom.   
  
Orange Star High was a maze of corridors and rooms that -- to someone who had limited experience in urban settings -- seemed never-ending. Gohan had been wandering the apparently mislabelled hallways for almost thirty minutes now and he remained utterly befuddled. The Super Saiyan student had discovered that every time he travelled up one floor, the numbers on the doors skipped irregularly. For example, 146 was the highest numbered door on the first floor, while the second floor's labelling ended at 239, and 353 was the room upon which the third floor ended. Furthermore, every floor's numbering seemed to start with something hundred and one, regardless of what door number had ended the previous floor. The organization was reprehensible. What was the point in randomly skipping room numbers? The school's system made no sense!  
  
Abruptly, an amused masculine voice from behind the half-human hybrid halted Gohan's random wanderings through Orange Star High: "If you're quite finished traipsing around the school aimlessly, I believe I could offer you some assistance."  
  
Although annoyed with the new arrival's haughty tones, Gohan wasn't prepared to turn down any offers of help. Turning to look at the obviously male person behind him, the former warrior did a quick visual scan of the teen, simultaneously sensing the young man's ki.   
  
The individual who had approached Gohan had a marginally elevated ki, but he was no threat to Gohan; even Mr. Satan could have crushed him with ease. His appearance was slightly more remarkable. The teenager had a wiry physique that, though it appeared to lack power, could hide a significant amount of speed. Jet black hair sharply contrasted the boy's pallor: his skin was almost uniformly white. What was even stranger to Gohan, however, was the way the man practically oozed intimidation and coolness. Part of the intimidation factor was caused by the youth's stature: he stood six foot five, towering over even Gohan. Height was something Goku's son had long ago learned to ignore, though. A creature's size did not necessarily reflect its power. Nappa and Vegeta illustrated that point well. The man's features were what vexed Son Gohan. Cold, calculating, beryl blue orbs bored into their surroundings ruthlessly, categorizing and analysing everything around them. Nothing escaped their scrutiny. The man's smile was equally fearsome. More of a smirk than anything else, the expression always gave the impression that its recipient was being laughed at, opposed to laughing with the teen.   
  
Despite Gohan's misgivings, he hesitated no more than an instant before extending his hand to the strange young man. "Son Gohan," the demi-Saiyan intoned, introducing himself cautiously.  
  
The irksome grin he wore never leaving his face, the fellow student replied in a similar monotone to Gohan's: "Fatum Ultori."  
  
The gazes of the two locked, neither backing down. Gohan couldn't shake the feeling that this Fatum Ultori was a threat, despite the input of his measurable senses. The danger sense -- not one of the aforementioned 'measurable senses' --, which all martial artists develop to some extent, was practically screaming at the man's proximity to Gohan. Fatum cracked first in the battle of wills, or perhaps he simply didn't deem such a confrontation as worth his time. Either way, the taller of the two was the first to avert his eyes, though he retained that grin: an expression Gohan already had come to loathe.   
  
Gesturing to Gohan's left, Fatum pointed at a door Gohan had accidentally skipped. "I believe that is our classroom, Son Gohan."  
  
Sheepishly -- at missing something so obvious -- the demi-Saiyan walked over to the room's entrance, muttering a few words of thanks to Fatum. Leading the way, the hybrid scholar opened the door, interrupting the class' teacher's beginning of the year lecture. She was not amused by his presence in the least.  
  
"So, you must be Son Gohan, or maybe that other new boy... Mr. Ultori," their short blond professor commented. The teacher narrowed her eyes at the eldest Son child threateningly. "Either way, I expected more punctuality from a student of your quality. The fact that you scored one-hundred percent on your exams does not excuse your lateness. In point of fact, your intelligence makes this late appearance even more disturbing. I would think that you would know better than to show up thirty minutes late for class. I will let you get away with this offence because you are a new student, but do not expect a similar courtesy again. Please, introduce yourself and take your seat."  
  
Shyly, Gohan stepped forward. Looking at the numerous teenagers around him gave the young man pause. Never before had the half-Saiyan seen anywhere near this number of people his age in one place. The closest Gohan had ever come to seeing this many individuals was at the biannual Z fighter gatherings, but, then again, noone at those get togethers could claim to be both the Super Saiyan's age and human.   
  
Ultimately, Gohan found the classroom intimidating; this disposition did little to calm the demi-alien's nerves. Clearing his throat and apprehensively tugging at the collar of the white sweat shirt his mother had bought him, Gohan finally spoke up: "My name is Son Gohan and I live in the 439 Mountain Area. I like reading, studying and-"   
  
Gohan was cut off by the teacher tersely: "My Lord boy. I asked for a name, not your life story. Please sit down so we can continue with the class."   
  
Gohan simply gulped and complied, taking one of the two empty seats beside a strange blond girl whom, upon looking at her, had unnerved Gohan. Though she didn't have that funny hungry look that the majority of the class' female population shared, there was something else unusual about her. She seemed to be sizing him up, not like a piece of meat, but in the same manner with which a hunter might analyse his or her prey. There was also an inexplicable abnormality in her ki. The girl's life energy wasn't elevated or inhuman. The ki was just not right: twisted somehow.  
  
Gohan's analysis was brought to an abrupt stop as his reluctant companion -- Fatum -- followed him into the classroom. Focusing his gaze immediately on Videl, the new arrival snorted and then pointedly ignored her in favour of Son Gohan. He appeared especially interested in the half-Saiyan. Then, his gaze swept over Erasa... and stopped short. Glaring momentarily, he seemed almost concerned for a moment at what he saw. Then his grin widened considerably, as he flipped a few wayward strands of dark hair away from his eyes. Perhaps Fatum did not find her as intimidating as he had originally appeared to.  
  
With a superior smirk, Fatum gave the English class a gruff warning: "As I'm sure all but the densest of you have guessed, my name is Fatum Ultori. I warn you, I am a highly trained martial artist and will kill anyone who annoys me. That is all."   
  
Videl stood up in response to what she felt was an idle threat. She pointed at the new kid and glared menacingly, waiting for him to back down. Fatum didn't even flinch. "How dare you come in here and threaten all of us. I'll have you know that I'm the daughter of Mr. Satan, the Earth's saviour, and am not to be taken lightly. Before you idly bluster some more, you should know that my dad, who mauled Cell, is only one wrung above me. I suggest that you take back that particular ultimatum, or else you'll have me to deal with."  
  
Though the majority of the class' students seemed impressed with Viedl's speech, Fatum did not echo their sentiments. His response was a dismissive snort that only served to infuriate Videl further. The raven-haired beauty began to turn red and if she was Saiyan, Gohan would have bet his life that she would have gone Super and beaten the fledgling student into the ground. Instead, the youngest Satan sat back down in her seat, still glaring. She couldn't wait for her rival to make good on his threat. Then she'd show him what fighting a real martial artist was like.  
  
Fatum took his seat between Gohan and Erasa -- the demi-Saiyan was trying to stay as far away from that girl as possible -- without complaint. He seemed only minimally annoyed when Videl attempted to question Gohan about the gold fighter, whispering across the distance between the two.   
  
Fatum, Erasa and Videl -- who Gohan had just learned, to his surprise, was Mr. Satan's daughter -- all seemed to be highly unusual -- possibly even dangerous. "Perhaps," he thought, "interesting times are returning to the Earth. I certainly hope not, though. Having a new threat would certainly cut down on the time I have for my studies." Despite his reservations, Son Gohan silently resolved to start seriously training again. "After all, I've been feeling rather sluggish lately. It would probably be best for me to atleast try to get back into decent shape with the possibility of some new enemy's on the horizon. I should probably check with Dende first, though. I'm sure he'll be able to tell me something."  
  
***  
  
Videl had never met anyone quite like Son Gohan. The youngest of the Satans had never before encountered a man who treated her with such compassion, was so utterly naive and possessed the air of mystery that seemed to surround her classmate. She'd been completely unable to crack the facade which Gohan presented to the world. The man was one big pile of secrets. Videl had been able to elucidate none of the countless enigmas shrouding the young man so far, but she was far from giving up the chase.  
  
Son Gohan was a quarry whom Videl could not easily ensnare and he'd evaded all her questions with little difficulty. He looked and acted like a bookworm most of the time, but atleast a few times, Videl could have sworn she saw a warrior's spirit in Orange Star High's resident geek. He'd also managed to catch that one hit from Sharpner... floating almost thirty feet in the air. There was no way she was buying his explanation about new shoes.   
  
At lunch she'd seen the boy eat more food than his undeniably puny body could have possibly contained. The teenage girl had seen incinerators that consumed less than Son Gohan. He'd ate and ate and ate, never seeming to become full. Even when Videl had confronted him after viewing the awesome sight, he'd simply shrugged her probing inquiries off, replying that he was no more than a growing boy. Yeah right. The kid was more like a growing elephant.  
  
The man was a walking paradox. At first glance, he had appeared a nerdy country bumpkin. Then he'd caught that ball and failed to flinch when another baseball hit him hard in the face. The kid was completely impossible. She'd even neglected the strangeness Erasa had displayed that day -- her obvious disinterest in the opposite sex -- and that jerk Fatum to focus on Gohan, but all her efforts were to no avail. Videl Satan -- daughter of the world champion -- had completely failed to discover anything about her new classmate beyond what he'd volunteered in his brief introduction. He could be the Gold Fighter, but his hair, eyes and everything else about the vigilante's appearance she had noted, besides what he was wearing, ran completely contrary to how Son Gohan looked. Feh. They both had terrible taste in clothing. Besides that and Gohan's prodigious leap, however, she had nothing to connect the two enigmas.  
  
The mystery surrounding Son Gohan had led Videl to discover a new depth in her feelings. Never before had she felt the same way about anyone as she did about the second most recent addition to her class. Videl hated Gohan with unimaginable passion.  
  
Certainly, the kid was cute; her female classmates had made that point clearly. The naiveté could also be endearing on some occasions, but Videl despised unsolved mysteries, and, to her, that was what Son Gohan was. Gohan occupied far more of her thoughts than any boy had a right to occupy. She just couldn't get the thought of that nerd and his heaps of festering secrets out of her head. Videl would figure him out. Noone escaped the heir to Satan-ryu for long. Her victory was inevitable.  
  
***  
  
Son Gohan had never been so exhausted in his entire life. Fine. Perhaps that was not strictly true. Both his combats with Cell and Vegeta had left him far more physically drained than his first day at Orange Star High. In fact, Gohan's energy levels were so high that he was practically jumping up and down from his need to fly, spar, run, or do anything else that did not involve sitting in a school desk, listening to information that had been drilled into his head at twelve or thirteen by his mother. No, his physical body was not tired at all. His mind and emotions were an entirely different matter, however.  
  
Videl had been stalking Gohan the entire day, insisting that he was hiding some huge secret from her. She was right, but it was the principle of the thing. Why did she care about his secrets anyway. Unless she suspected that her father had been lying about Cell -- which he doubted -- there was absolutely no reason for her to care about him. In many ways, Gohan was beginning to wish that Videl would just leave him alone. The demi-Saiyan was finding hiding his true power and origins difficult enough without having some self-righteous shadow attempting to ferret out his secrets. The other two people who had been inconspicuously -- they thought -- observing him were no better than Videl. In many ways, they were far worse than Mr. Satan's daughter.  
  
Frankly, there was something about Erasa that scared Gohan deeply. Though the half-Saiyan could detect no abnormalities in her ki, or behaviour -- staring at Gohan for long periods of time was apparently normal for teenage girls -- every one of his combat instincts screamed out warnings whenever he was within two dozen metres of the unassuming blonde. Also, the way he looked at her was different from the way everyone else did. While most of Gohan's male classmates stared at him jealously and almost every female member of the school leered in his direction as if he was a juicy piece of meat, Erasa acted more like a computer. Every motion he made was catalogued and analysed by the highly advanced processor that was Ms. Pen's brain. The demi-alien was an open book that she continually added information to. Periodically, her sky blue eyes burned with an uncanny intelligence that belied the "bimbo" facade she generally wore. Whereas Videl actively sought out Gohan's secrets, the not-so-scatterbrained teen simply watched and waited for his inevitable slip-ups. At Erasa's current rate, Cell's final foe would be laid bare before her within the week. No secret could remain hidden from the blonde for long. Then again, atleast when dealing with Erasa he knew she was still unravelling his secrets.  
  
To Fatum, Gohan was already a closed book, long-published, well-read and easily accessible. Somehow, the mysterious newcomer seemed to know absolutely everything about him. When Gohan had leapt well beyond the abilities of normal humans, not only had the stranger appeared completely unsurprised by the accidental demonstration of the galactic saviour's power, but Fatum had looked bored, as if to say "Jump higher. I know you can do better than that." The eldest of the Son children found the man's knowledge about him baffling and infuriating. How was it that this complete stranger could know every nuance of his past, motivations and abilities, while Gohan could not even recognize him. He'd even hinted that Gohan was an extraterrestrial being to the entire class, stating that Gohan's feats were inhuman, but that inhuman feats were to be expected from one of his lineage. Quite simply, the situation with Fatum Ultori was unacceptable. He would have to deal with the situation, and do so post-haste.  
  
For the aforementioned reasons, meeting with the "terrible trio" was not high on Gohan's list of priorities. In point of fact, the first ascended Super Saiyan decided to leave Orange Star High immediately: to avoid his pursuers. Therefore, it is understandable that when the three most agitating people in the Saiyan teen's life at the moment approached his locker, along with Sharpner -- whom Gohan had pinned as an arrogant, self-absorbed jock -- the Earth's most powerful warrior was less than pleased. Those whom knew the half-alien well might have even said -- using the way his left eye sporadically twitched as a guide -- that the seventeen year old was reaching highly dangerous levels of indignation. Those selfsame friends of the demi-saiyan would also have most likely fled to a safe distance -- like a few thousand miles -- away from Gohan: one can never be too safe when dealing with easily angered teens who can blow up star systems.   
  
Unfortunately, the quartet of approaching inquisitors did not know Son Gohan particularly well. Certainly, their knowledge of him did not include sufficient information for the group to accurately analyse his facial expressions. Perhaps, if they had noticed that his infinite patience and goofy grin were a facade, Videl, Erasa, Fatum and Sharpner would have ceased their harassment of Gohan. Only one of the group guessed that the raven-haired teenager may have been hiding his true feelings about seeing the group again. However, Fatum Ultori didn't care one iota about his classmate's feelings regarding their presence.  
  
Sharpner was -- thankfully -- the first to approach. The blond-haired athlete strolled up to Gohan whistling and put his arm around the school's resident nerd. The demi-Saiyan immediately became suspicious. The most self-absorbed, arrogant person Gohan had met since Vegeta's arrival eleven years ago would not normally touch anyone, no matter what the circumstances. Furthermore, the multitalented Saiyan had never once heard Sharpner whistle -- ever. The fact that his petulant classmate approached Gohan in such a strange fashion put the hybrid on edge. Sharpner wanted something.  
  
"Well Gohan, fancy meeting you here. You know, you're just the man I was looking for."  
  
"I never would have guessed Sharpner." In fact, Gohan had guessed that Sharpner wanted to see him by both the facts that he'd detected the rich young man's hurried approach across the school and that the blonde's locker was three floors above where the two currently stood.  
  
"Yeah, well after I saw how you took that misplaced fastball of mine in the face, I thought to myself 'you know Sharpner, that Gohan'd make one mean fighter.' The martial arts club could really use someone like you. We don't win much -- except Videl -- and you might be able to get a little less scrawny too. Chicks always go for guys with big muscles."  
  
Gohan raised an eyebrow incredulously at Sharpner's suggestion. Very few people would call him scrawny for one and -- as far as he noticed -- none of the so-called "chicks" his classmate made reference to seemed to have any interest in the blond jock. The halfling would have likely turned the amateur martial artist down at the very moment if Fatum had not walked in from the other direction, blocking his escape route.  
  
"Don't worry about the wuss, Sharpner. Its obvious a wimpy little bookworm like Gohan couldn't throw a punch if his life depended on it. Considering the way he acts, I bet his whole family's just a bunch of spineless cowards -- especially his father. Only a craven weakling could possibly produce such a pitiful heir."  
  
By the end of Fatum's recommendations and condemnations, Gohan was seething. The Saiyan blood within him was just begging to boil to the surface and strangle the man who had dared insult his family. Calling Gohan a coward was one thing, but dishonouring his father in the same manner was beyond unacceptable. Every fibre of the half-breed's body felt the need to throttle Fatum. The mystery man would get what was coming to him. Gohan played right into his antagonist's hands.  
  
"I'll join on one condition: Fatum's coming too." Gohan smirked evilly for an instant, causing Sharpner to flinch, and then blinked as he realized his mistake. Gohan's response had not caused the smirk's target to become intimidated in the least. Instead, Fatum was smiling even more. Why wasn't his classmate afraid? Unless... Gohan's eyes widened as he looked back to his new quarry. The teenager who had goaded him nodded. Son Gohan had acted exactly as Fatum wanted. He'd tricked him. Gohan felt like the world's biggest idiot at that moment.  
  
There was only one option remaining to Gohan that did not involve beating weaklings senseless without reason. Maybe he could convince his mom to force him not to go. After all, martial arts were not conductive to the half-Saiyan's studies. Yes. That was exactly what he would do! Gohan still had a way out of this predicament.   
  
As Son Gohan leaped straight out of the third story window, forgetting that he had an audience in his desperation to escape the current situation, he also neglected another important responsibility, besides concealing his abilities. The half-Saiyan needed some sort of disguise, so that nobody would connect him with the gold fighter. He'd intended to ask Bulma, but completely forgot with the after school difficulties cropping up. At that moment, Son Gohan had more important considerations than protecting his image. He needed away out of his predicament. Escaping the duo's -- Fatum and Sharpner's -- gambit was first and foremost in the halfling's mind, though, later that night, he would likely regret his choice.  
  
"Wow!" Sharpner exclaimed, blinking dumbly. "I guess he's a little tougher than I thought." Fatum snorted at the blonde's analysis. What a fool.  
  
Videl also did not miss Gohan's three story jump. There was something mystifying about the boy's abilities. The heir to Satan-ryu had to know how he pulled those tricks off. Then, she would respond in kind and defeat him in single combat. Videl Satan never lost.   
  
"I'll find you out yet, Son Gohan."  
  
***  
  
Son Chi Chi happily hummed to herself as the therapeutic sights, smells and sounds of the middle-aged widow's modest household washed over her. All around the Ox King's daughter, there was life. On the floor above her, Chi Chi's vibrant and vigorous -- occasionally too vigorous -- son, Goten, was playing jovially with his favourite action figures -- Hercule and Cell.   
  
Though she hated both the aforementioned figures unbridled passion, Goten's use of the two toys never failed to lighten her heart. Just as every other time she heard her son's dialogue for his most valued possessions, the diminutive demi-Saiyan's antics caused Chi Chi to chuckle. The way he tried to copy their voices was absolutely hilarious and sometimes he would even bring out his Vegeta doll -- a pink-haired troll -- as well. The boy's youthful enthusiasm always left the oldest living member of the Son family feeling a decade younger. He was far from the only part of her environment Chi Chi enjoyed.  
  
The wondrous chirping of birds, as well as the gentle swishing sound of both the forest green leaves and serene pond, in her backyard, moved in time with a light, warm breeze. Slowly setting in the west, Earth's sole sun painted the horizons a beautiful orangish red hue. The family matriarch's hands moved habitually, washing various vegetables in a stream of lukewarm water. Light airy breaths filled Chi Chi's lungs, spiced with the fragrance of roses and lilies. All was peaceful in the 439 mountain area. In Son Chi Chi's opinion, all was right in the world.  
  
The front door crashed closed; the violent meeting of a steel door frame meeting with the surrounding brickwork shook the house. All noise, save the ominous stomping of Chi Chi's first son, halted abruptly. The wind itself appeared to still in anticipation of the coming conflict. Son Gohan had returned home. Any semblance of peace was lost. The disruption of Chi Chi's relaxation was unacceptable.  
  
"Son Gohan!" the boy's mother screamed. "How dare you act so violently!?! I raised you better than that!" Placing her hands on her hips, Son Chi Chi glared menacingly in Gohan's direction. Despite her diminutive height -- in comparison to her more than six foot tall son -- the princess of the Ox Kingdom made an effort to look down on her her son. His behaviour was completely improper. Her tactics worked faultlessly on her now cowering son. Chi Chi had lost no skill in the art of intimidation with her youth. If anything, the widow was doubly terrifying; she had a wealth of experience.  
  
"I'm s-sorry mom," Gohan stuttered, "but I've had a really bad day at school."  
  
Her fury doubling in intensity after hearing her son's reply, Chi Chi's fist crashed through the counter, splintering the surface. "What happened!?! If the mean boys at that school hurt you in any way, I'll chop off their manhood and sic Icarus on them!" Gohan's mother conveniently forgot that her son happened to be among the top five fighters in the universe on a good day (on a bad day the other four put together wouldn't stand a chance). She also failed to note her youngest son -- a mere seven year old -- just outside the room, who had heard every word of her rant.   
  
"Mommy, what's a manhood?"  
  
Chi Chi blanched. "Well, Goten that's what you pee with."  
  
"But then, if you cut them off, how would they go to the bathroom? Would it come out of their mouths or something?" Goten's face scrunched up cutely for a moment, as he seriously contemplated the possibility. "I don't think you should cut them off mommy. It doesn't sound very nice."  
  
Unfortunately for Goten's recommendation, Chi Chi had stopped listening to her youngest son as soon as he mentioned urinating from the mouth. "Goten, why don't you phone Trunks. I'm sure he'd be very happy to hear from you. Maybe the two of you could have a sleep-over."  
  
Goten's face brightened with a happy smile. The boy loved being with his friend, Trunks. His mother rarely let him visit Capsule Corporation because of her dislike of Vegeta. That reality made the limited time he spent with the lavender-haired demi-Saiyan all the more enjoyable. There was one problem with the situation, however.   
  
Chi Chi never allowed Goten to sleep-over at the Briefs' residence because of 'that miserable excuse for a scum-bag alien prince.' The youthful martial artist knew of only one reason why his mother would ever annul her prohibition.   
  
"This is one of those subject changing thingies, isn't it?" Goten's smile faded, as he began to frown at his elder guardians. "I bet you don't really want me to see Trunks. You just want me to go away so I'll stop bugging you." An artfully shed tear accentuated the child's point. "You probably hate me and you're going to kick me out as soon as I leave and never let me come back!" Goten began to wail, as Gohan sweat dropped. How would they keep a demi-Saiyan out of an ordinary house anyway? The fact that Goten could effortlessly demolish any wall in the house was obvious. Chi Chi, on the other hand, fell for her son's act hook line and sinker.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Goten," the middle-aged mother replied, rubbing her son's back. "Maybe we can get you a cookie or two to calm you down. We would never abandon you."  
  
Goten's performance having paid off, he instantly brightened. "Thanks mommy. Can I still go to Trunks?"  
  
"Of course dear. I'll have Gohan take you on the nimbus."  
  
"Reaaaally! I get to fly on Nimbus with Gohan! That's awesome!" Goten began jumping for joy.  
  
Gohan was somewhat less jubilant. "C'mon mom. It's bad enough that I was talked into joining the martial arts club, but this is ridiculous! I can't take Goten, especially with all the time to do schoolwork I'll be losing because of the club. Maybe if I didn't have to worry about the extra-curriculars I'd be fine but-"  
  
"Fine, Gohan. I can see where this is going," Chi Chi interrupted. "It's obvious that you don't want to disappoint your schoolmates or your brother, so I'll let you do both and your homework. We'll just cut off your free time so that you can please everyone. Gohan's mother then began to gush: "My little boy is so caring and smart. He's already the most popular boy in the school and can't stand the thought of upsetting his friends!"  
  
Chi Chi's demi-Saiyan son simply stood for a moment, blinking at the implications of his mother's statement. How could she have misread his intentions so badly? He'd been hoping to escape one of his two troubles and instead had both shoved down his throat forcibly. Not only that, but Chi Chi was curtailing his free time. That little incident last month with the oil tanker and the kamehameha had already increased his studies to occupying all but two hours of his day. How much more could he lose? Maybe after taking Goten he'd visit Piccolo. Though he hated taking advantage of his long-time mentor, the half-alien really needed a punching bag.  
  
As Goten grabbed his brother by the arm, literally dragging Gohan outside, the Super Saiyan level Two came to a decision. As soon as he could, the second eldest -- living -- son would have a long talk with his old friend Mr. Piccolo. They really had quite a bit to catch up on after all and he had promised himself to start training again. Additionally, Gohan had been wondering whether he could use Piccolo's clothing materialization trick to create a costume to wear while he fought crime. It could be that the trick was a purely Namekian ability, but, then again, materialization of fabrics might just as easily require no more than a few hours training. Maybe Piccolo could even provide some information on the strange people who'd stalked Gohan that day. After all, the fusion of Piccolo Damaio Jr, Kami and Nail was perpetually in close contact with Dende; if anyone would posses the information Son Gohan desired, it would be Dende. Piccolo could help him in all sorts of ways. Besides, despite having the best of intentions, the half-Saiyan's mother occasionally got on his eldest child's nerves. If nothing else, the Namekian warrior atleast provided a temporary respite from the whirlwind of activity that was Son Chi Chi.   
  
***  
  
The Yunzabito Heights -- the most north-westerly major mountain range on Earth -- was once among the blue-green orb's largest tourist hot spots. The scenic cliffs, sprawling canyons and seas of colourful flowers attracted adventure-seekers and sightseers both, despite the range's isolated location. Counted among the natural wonders of the world, the collection of more than five thousand mile high mountains in a semicircle were long considered impassable; even in modern times, their mystique lived on in legend. The beauty, height and popularity of the mountains lived on solely in that legend in modern times. The cause of the calamity that destroyed the mountains entirely was still undiscovered by scientists and researchers. No human being could fathom the magnitude of power that would have been necessary to generate such monumentous destruction. That was just as well. It wouldn't do for regular people to understand the depths of Son Gohan's power. Who would have believed that a desperate infant in philosopher's robes could destroy mountains?  
  
The fact that the former mountain range was abandoned had made the area a popular training spot for the Z fighters. Without having to worry about prying eyes or nearby cities, the non-Saiyan warriors of Earth could almost go all-out. For that reason, the two most impressive of the aforementioned group -- non-Saiyan Z fighters -- were standing on two of the few remaining peaks of what was now a wasteland in combat stances. From nearly two miles above the Earth, each eyed his opposite warily, seeking an opening. After an instant of observation, an opening was discerned.  
  
Blurring forward with a powerful yell, Piccolo shot towards Tien -- his current foe. The former assassin rarely made mistakes in their sparring sessions, so when the fused Namek had spotted a weakness, he'd ruthlessly exploited the opening. The son of Damaio faked a blow to Tien's head, purposely swinging wildly in a semicircle: a semicircle that left his elbow perfectly positioned to strike his sparring partner in the stomach.   
  
Releasing a titanic blow that was only marginally weakened -- though significantly slowed down -- by his weighted clothing, Piccolo struck, prompting Tien to spit out a quarter of an ounce of blood. The pain did not prevent the assassin from countering, however, as a rain of fingertips danced across the Namek's shoulders, paralysing him by cutting off his ki flow to both arms.  
  
Tien's distraction did not stop Piccolo for long, but bought the student of both the Crane and Turtle schools sufficient time to regain his breath, while his opponent reopened his ki points with a slight exertion. Adopting a new stance -- this one focusing on offence -- the martial artist charged at Piccolo Damaio Jr; his speed nearly equalled the Namek's while Piccolo wore his weighted clothing. The equality in terms of speed abruptly changed, however, as the triclops screamed, "Kaioken Attack!" and zanzokened out of sight.   
  
Landing a flurry of ki charged punches on the his foe's back, as he reappeared, the former Tenachi Budokai winner disoriented Piccolo. An instant later, his foot impacted with the Namek's head -- hopefully a finishing blow. The permanent fusion didn't even flinch.  
  
"You're not strong enough. I've told you before. Even with that trick, you don't have the power to damage me." Piccolo smirked.  
  
"Fine then. I'll have to take it up a notch. Double Kaioken!"  
  
A fiery red aura completely encompassing Tien's muscular form, the three-eyed warrior pointed a single finger at his opponent. "Dodonpa!" The potent purple beam staggered Piccolo momentarily. A moment was all Tien needed.   
  
Dropping the Kaioken, in favour of his preferred attack, the ex-assasin formed a triangle with his hands. Before the Namek could regain his bearings well enough to dodge, Tien fired. "Kikoho!"  
  
The duo had a stand-off. Piccolo lacked the power to halt the Kikoho's power outright, but had managed to slow the titanic attack with difficulty. Simultaneously, the imperial bodyguard's -- Tien's -- life force was fading slowly; maintaining the beam was impossibly draining and the kaioken was not the most user-friendly technique in the universe either. In mutual agreement, both Piccolo and Tien decided to end their session and the Kikoho disappeared.   
  
Frustrated, Tien acknowledged his defeat. "You won... again." Without another word, the martial artist flew off. He was certain would win next time. His Namekian comrade couldn't always be the victor in their spars.  
  
Piccolo had already moved on to other matters that demanded his attention. A moment ago he'd detected his first student entering the Yunzabito Heights. Though Gohan had remained a few kilometres away, so as not to disturb the sparring session, the teens ki was far too high to ignore. Detecting the fourth strongest ki on the planet does not require significant exertion.   
  
Piccolo was quite curious about what Gohan wanted. Since he'd put a halt to his training five years ago, Piccolo's sole pupil -- in martial arts -- seldom visited his oldest friend and mentor; the Namekian would be happy to catch up on events in the youth's life. Even with the agitation that permeated Gohan's aura, Piccolo had no qualms about talking with his rival's eldest son. Who knows? Maybe they could even get a spar in.  
  
"Hey Piccolo," Gohan yelled enthusiastically as he approached. "How are you doing?" The fiery blue blur that was the demi-Saiyan powerhouse halted in front of his first combat instructor and waved. A wide grin lit up Gohan's face.  
  
Allowing his lips to quirk slightly in a semblance of a smile, Piccolo met the teens eyes. "It's been a long time, kid. Good to see you." Then, continuing in a slightly more serious tone, the Namekian fusion asked, "So, what are you doing here?"  
  
Unthinkingly lowering his feet to the ground from where he'd floated seconds earlier, Gohan stared up at the closest person he'd had to a father figure. "Actually, I came to ask you about something. You know that trick you do to create new clothes. Well... I was wondering if you could teach it to me. That is... er... if you don't mind.."  
  
Piccolo's decision regarding his only real friend's request was practically instantaneous. The trick wasn't particularly difficult to pull off; even a normal human could manipulate magical forces in small quantities. With maybe five hours of training Gohan could likely be brought up to speed. Finally, there was the real deciding factor. The kid was one of the few people on the planet Piccolo could not only tolerate, but enjoy spending time with. Compared to sacrificing your life for someone, using a few hours of your time to train said person was not particularly cumbersome; the Namek would have sacrificed his life for Gohan's existence in an instant.  
  
The offspring of both demons and kamis curtly nodded his head. "Sure thing, kid. That's pretty basic magic. I figure that if you stick around for the rest of the night, you should have it by morning."  
  
Gohan smiled brightly once again, in response to his best friend's encouraging reply. Unsure what to do next, he asked, "Okay, so what do I do first?"  
  
"Just sit down in a lotus position kid. Even with all your slacking off, you should remember what that is." A barely distinct -- but readily apparent to Gohan -- twinkle in Piccolo's eye made it clear that the Namek was kidding. After all the year's the two had known each other, each could easily see through any facade the other erected and both knew that Piccolo's gruffness was just for keeping up appearances. "Now just reach out like you would for your ki and then keep going. Eventually you'll reach..."  
  
The lessons continued well into the morning. By which time, just as Piccolo predicted, Gohan had mastered the basics of the trick. The demi-Saiyan was already thinking of new ways to apply the magical connection he'd developed, but decided to save those thoughts for another time. He purposefully chose to avoid his mother -- and the rants that would follow about Piccolo if he did not avoid her -- as he picked up his books and jetted towards Orange Star High. There would certainly be problems later, but for now Gohan was happy, if tired from his training. He could really use some sleep. Maybe he could take a quick nap at lunch.  
  
***  
  
The Lookout was a perpetually inviting and pristine location. This phenomenon had two primary causes: the structure's staggering height and a combination of powerful spells. The Lookout's height -- exactly fifty kilometres -- all but eliminated cloud cover and precipitation, while giving a wonderful view of either the stars or bright blue sky depending on the time of day. A number of magical wards shielded visitors from the harmful radiation they would otherwise experience far above the ozone layer and a heating enchantment cast by the first Kami of the Earth increased temperatures to almost exactly eighty degrees Fahrenheit. In short, Kami's Lookout was a paradise; Obitus -- the Rakshasa infiltrator impersonating Dende -- hated the place.  
  
Staring icily at one of the his elite spies from a tall throne in the centre of Kami's palace, he requested information: "What have you discovered about the one named Son Gohan, young one."  
  
The blond-haired female ignored her overseer's glare nonchalantly. "The child keeps his power secret with great fervour, my lord. I heard a report that a "golden fighter" had attacked some human criminals, but the primitives' weaponry is pathetic. Even a Pishaca could have defeated the boy's foes effortlessly."  
  
"I know much about the humans capabilities already. Continue with the assessment of the target." The way Obitus spat the word 'humans' made clear his lack of respect for Earth's principal race.  
  
"Of course, lord. His full power is always repressed to a variable degree, so his limits are impossible to determine. The highest levels I discerned were approximately fifty percent above my full strength. This strength was displayed solely in the first few seconds following his transformation to the golden-haired form. After about five seconds, his power dropped to about one quarter of that level. Questioning has yielded no useful information. In short, he appears to be both highly intelligent and atleast moderately powerful. The child also displays exceptional emotional control, despite purposeful attempts to cause aggravation. The boy is formidable."  
  
Idly pondering the enigma that the guardian's records had indicated as a considerable threat to Lord Ravanna's objectives, the hell-spawned warrior addressed his subordinate: "Your analysis lacks depth, child, but I perceive that this may not be any fault of your own. You mentioned that Son Gohan refuses to reveal his true ability, I believe."  
  
"Yes, lord. That is so."  
  
A malicious grin spread over the Rakshasa's face slowly, like a malignant tumour. "Ah, well then. Perhaps our foe simply requires a small challenge to incite those Saiyan battle urges. Coincidentally, it just so happens that I have such a challenge right here."  
  
The possessed teenager raise a questioning eyebrow. "What challenge would that be?"  
  
Gesturing towards the darkness, the dark lord's foreboding expression grew more prevalent. A diminutive silhouette appeared behind Obitus' shadowy seat. As the creature -- a fanged, pale green humanoid wearing a concealing cloak -- stepped forward into the light. The ancient demonic warrior gestured towards the newly revealed figure. "Allow me to present Garlic Junior -- a second class asura assigned to Earth."  
  
AN: My god, that took a long time. I apologize for the month long wait for this one (I'll try not to let that happen again). I just had trouble because this was kind of a background chapter meant to set the scene. On the other hand, I didn't want my audience completely bored. I tried to mix some fun or action-filled scenes in with the more monotonous ones and... well... this obscenely long chapter came out. If anyone's wondering about Fatum Ultori and why the hell the author's throwing in an original character who seems all-knowing, though noone knows him, I'll give you one clue. He's not an original character. He's a home-grown part of the Dragonball universe with a significant name change. Thanks for reading and, as always, please review. God knows I need all the criticism I can get.  
  
Responses to Reviewers:  
  
MysticGohan: Thanks for the support. I have to be a bit worried that if you found the first two chapters confusing this one will totally befuddle you. Ah well... As for the Hercule/Videl confrontation, it was one of my favourite scenes to write and, unlike many authors I have read, I plan to treat Hercule as a real person: not a saint or hero, but an ordinary person with both strengths and flaws. Therefore, you can expect to see more confrontation between the Satans. Thanks again for reviewing.  
  
reader: Thank you for both the compliments and criticisms. I tried to work on being more concise, as you suggested, in this chapter, but I daresay that many sentences remain rather strung out -- like this one. As for word choice, I generally simply pick whatever the best word is for describing a given situation and if I use more complicated words than some may deem neccessary, it is either to better describe a scene or to avoid repeated use of the same word. Thank you for the constructive review (I rarely get reviews that are both positive and highly critical). I'm also glad to hear you enjoy the story.  
  
aggiebearkat: I don't know about splitting up chapters, but I did revise the scene with the 'winged shadow' to -- hopefully -- clear up that confusion. Hopefully, you find this chapter less confusing. Thank you.  
  
mystickrillen: I'm right with you in the "go dende" category and would just like to let you know to expect an appearance from our favourite green-skinned guardian in the next chapter, or the one after that -- at the latest.  
  
Dreamwraith: Yay, a repeating reviewer! I haven't definitively decided how I'm going to handle Videl discovering Gohan's identity yet, but I do have ideas (hopefully it will be as interesting as you anticipate). As for the guardian, he's back next chapter, or the one after that in a small way, though his role will, eventually, be significant. Finally, on exploring Erasa's character, I can't honestly say I'm doing that. I'm sort of treating her as an idiot savant, similar to what you suggested, but she's currently posessed by a demon. Perhaps, if our demonic friend is excorcised, will get a look at the real Erasa, but that's a big if. For now, we kind of have an evil demon inhabiting her soul and, while this brings up all sorts of fun issues for the heroes, it kind of halts significant character development. Again, thanks for the review; it is much appreciated. Hopefully, I'll hear from you again. 


	4. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.  
  
Manus Cruentus  
  
Chapter Three  
  
Gohan was bored; that reality was indisputable. In the half-Saiyan's current -- exhausted -- state, the normally stimulating lectures of his professors failed to penetrate the blanket of exhaustion that blocked their best efforts to educate him. The constant drivel -- as the Super Saiyan perceived their speech -- was quickly fading to a faint, annoying buzz in Gohan's ears. Before long, Orange Star High's premier student gave up on his studies in favour of a more appealing pastime: sleep.  
  
The heir to the Ox Kingdom had stumbled in drunkenly just as the late bell was ringing for his third class, barely avoiding detention. Despite the scholarly fervour he had exuded yesterday, most of the class quickly assumed the worst.   
  
"Nerd boy's drunk!" a muscular member of the football team had yelled.   
  
Another youth of significantly smaller stature replied, wiping his glasses, "Yes, he does appear somewhat inebriated." Fatum, on the other hand, blinked incredulously. Gohan drunk? How utterly ludicrous?   
  
Videl's reaction differed from that of her compatriots. Rushing to the front of the classroom, she'd firmly latched up on the boy, trying to steady him. "You idiot! I bet you're still woozy from that jump yesterday. What sort of idiot exits the school from the third floor window anyway? You probably have a concussion." Glancing at the teacher in a way that commanded respect from even those twenty years her senior, she motioned towards the door. "Mr. Tedum, would you mind if I brought Son Gohan to the nurse's office."  
  
"No. Of course not, Videl. That's an excellent idea," the math teacher replied evenly. Ignoring her after that comment, Mr. Tedum began his class. "Now class, take out questions ten to thirty two on the derivatives of basic functions. As you can see in question ten..." The class continued, undisturbed for the most part until Videl Satan and her charge returned fifteen minutes later.  
  
"No sir. According to the nurse, Gohan is suffering from sleep deprivation. She estimates that he hasn't slept in more than thirty hours and engaged in a number of strenuous activities. Essentially, he's tired and needs sleep."  
  
The calculus professor shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "I wonder why the boy would have stayed up all night. Oh well. Just put him in the back, Videl. I'm sure my best student will be awake again in no time."   
  
Acknowledging her instructor's request, the youngest Satan carried her number one candidate for the Gold Fighter to a desk in the back. She carefully took note of his densely muscled frame. Ignoring an irritating surge of hormones at the thought, Videl took note of the fact, adding the point to her growing tally of reasons why Gohan could be the gold fighter. Mentally, she considered her latest discovery: "Obviously a fighter of some description from the way he's toned. Little Gohan was hiding quite a bit more than a few muscles with his loose clothing. Hmmm... a martial artist pretending he's perfectly normal. Certainly proves he could be the gold fighter. I just need more evidence, and to figure out how he changes his eye and hair colour."  
  
Finally reaching the back of the classroom, Videl laid Gohan down on the floor carefully. "Wake up soon wonder boy. I've got a few more questions to ask you." Smirking down at the prone figure, she would have continued, but her wrist communicator chose that moment to beep. Videl pressed the button to activate the view screen on the pseudo watch and gasped. A large, green, goblin-like face with a pair of fangs completely covered the screen.  
  
"Now what do we have here? Another human? How wonderful! Unfortunately, I don't have time to talk now little girl. I have a city to destroy and a super-powered brat to roast. Perhaps we can speak later, just before I end your worthless life." Then, abruptly, the gremlin turned to the left. "What!?!" and the screen was filled with static.  
  
***  
  
A diminutive figure strutted along main street in Satan City, completely enshrouded by a jade cloak. Ignoring the numerous whispers that abounded through surrounding crowds about him, he moved purposefully, inhuman hearing picking up each and every comment within a one block radius. The stranger discarded the opinions just as readily, a single cogitation rendering their suppositions inconsequential in his mind. "You have one minute to live."  
  
Finally reaching his destination, the cloaked immortal stared up at the forty foot high statue before him. The monument depicted a ridiculous human in Garlic's eyes, who's abnormally large muscles would doubtlessly impede his fighting ability. Additionally, Hercule, as the ornate plaque at the memorial's base declared him, favoured an absolutely ludicrous hairstyle; the challenger of Kami could barely control his urge to laugh at Satan City's namesake. The statue would be the perfect place to begin his reign of terror.   
  
With a giant leap, Garlic ascended the monument commemorating Cell's defeat and stared down at the stunned residents of the Earth's third largest city. "Your one minute is up." A steady rain of death crashed down on the unsuspecting gawkers, as the humans' mouths widened. Ki blasts exploded indiscriminately. Lives were extinguished without remorse. Chaos reigned. Garlic was loving every minute of it.  
  
"Run fools, run! Maybe, if you're fast enough, you can even escape." A pair of eye beams suddenly shot out of his pupils, cutting the supports that held up a pair of gargantuan skyscrapers along the primary escape route the crowds chanced. Both collapsed in a titanic impact, the shock wave knocking the few survivors of their feet. "Then again, maybe not."  
  
Their sole escape route blocked, the throng of human beings did what was natural: they panicked. Any semblance of civilization was lost as those who remained fought to survive in the maelstrom of brilliant red death. Familial associations were ignored as brother, parent and child all fought one another to endure. A single man, driven beyond rational thought, climbed up to the former denizen of the dead zone and attacked with a lead pipe. Garlic stopped his wanton destruction for a moment to gaze at his challenger and chuckled darkly. "Idiot. Heroes are always the first to die." A blur of green, and a jarring collision by a human being with a concrete wall at supersonic speeds, later the wanton destruction resumed. A piercing siren wail stunned the demon with the sound's intensity. Garlic winced and then began to smirk once again. The cavalry had arrived. Oh goody.  
  
"This is the chief of police," an obese, smallish man carrying a megaphone in one hand and a gun in the other declared. "Surrender now or we will shoot. I repeat, this is your las-"  
  
A gurgle cut off the chief's warning as Garlic blurred down to grab his opponent by the neck. "No need for repetition, chubby. I heard you just fine the first time." Then, gleefully, the ancient demon snapped his victim's neck.   
  
A hail of bullets shot out of the surrounding half-dozen police cars, striking all over the mass murderers body. The officers would have been safer leaving their revolvers at home. Garlic turned towards the line of vehicles, his maniacal smile never leaving his face. The corpse that had been chief of police was dropped thoughtlessly. "So you would like to play too, little humans. Fine. I'll be happy to obli-" Garlic stopped. He'd heard something: a faint beeping to be precise.  
  
Idly gazing around -- and completely ignoring the frightened police -- Garlic searched for that which had produced the sound. Then he spotted the watch-like contraption on the chief's wrist and grinned. Apparently, something had bumped into the foreign object, activating the red communicator.   
  
The screen in the pseudo watch flicked on with a start, showing a girl who, by any human standard, would undoubtedly be considered a heartbreaker. Lush black curls and piercing blue eyes completed the classic beauty faultlessly. Garlic's smirk widened by an order of magnitude as his interest in the device increased. "Now what do we have here?"  
  
***  
  
The process had been both stressful and laborious. Moving halfway across the world was seldom a simple task, but, in his own case, Yamcha felt the escape had been worth all the difficulties. For more than two decades, the legendary bandit had resided in West Capital for one reason: Bulma. That reason had long become invalid.  
  
In the past eight years, the presence of Ms. Bulma Briefs, owner of Capsule Corporation, had been a constant source of grief for the three-time Tenachi Budokai competitor. At first -- when reporters learned of "the break-up" -- many of his fans offered support in whatever way they felt he would appreciate. They never understood; pity was not appreciated.   
  
The baseball star would have preferred to mourn his loss alone, but he eventually came to accept the both the public and media's attention as inevitable. People he'd never met would approach him on the street to give him their condolences. Reporters were always looking for the "real story." His life seemed hectic enough prior to the end of his relationship, but afterwards matters became even more chaotic. Even this chaos Yamcha weathered with difficulty. Unfortunately, just as he had began to accept his change in lifestyle, disaster struck -- or perhaps the inevitable.  
  
On the eighth month of Bulma's pregnancy, in the middle of a violent mood swing, Vegeta heard something about Yamcha, which he -- as usual -- misinterpreted. An hour later, the former bandit's mansion was in flames and his reputation in tatters. Not only could he not claim any insurance -- after all, how could a single man do what the future hall of famer described -- but the Briefs family sued him for slander when he claimed that Vegeta was responsible for the aforementioned events. Finally, only a day later, the West Capital Chronicle came out with a preposterous article by a reporter who, hearing some of the Saiyan prince's curses, had come to the conclusion that Yamcha had been sexually harassing Bulma.  
  
Seemingly overnight, all the condolences and reassuring pats on the back were transformed to curses and slaps in the face. Anyone who tells a person that words can't injure is sadly mistaken; they destroyed one of Earth's mightiest warriors as surely as an atomic warhead. Perhaps even more so, considering the reality that he could brush off conventional weaponry effortlessly. Just when the master of Kamesennin ryu thought things could get no worse, they did -- and then they went a few billion steps further.  
  
Unlike most of his companions in the Cell Games, Yamcha was easily recognizable. So, when the time to mock the worthless tricksters arrived, he was first, second, third and fourth to face the guillotine -- metaphorically, of course. After those fiascos -- and more than a dozen lawsuits from Satan Dojos inc. --, not even the most prolific athlete in professional sports history's baseball skills could save him. Unwilling to keep on a public pariah, such as Yamcha, no matter how many home runs he batted, The Titans -- his team -- put him on waivers, and the eight time golden glove winner stayed there for almost five years. After that long, he simply gave up hope. Baseball could no longer provide a haven for him. That was when he decided that escape was a necessity.  
  
In the space of three months, Yamcha had undergone all the required sales and acquisitions for his escape from West Capital and moved to Satan City. That was when another of his countless difficulties became apparent. The innumerable lawsuits, the destruction of his mansion and the results of half a decade unemployed began to catch up on him. Formerly the twelfth richest bachelor on Earth, the desert bandit was forced into bankruptcy by his financial woes.  
  
Then, a thin beam of hope emerged to lighten the darkness that was quickly becoming Yamcha's life. The bandit had been looking for a free meal the traditional way for a wandering warrior: challenging a dojo for food and board. He had, of course, defeated the dojo's master soundly in the combat of bokkens which kendoists prefer. Expecting only a night of free lodgings, the second weakest Z fighter had emerged the next morning, prepared to depart, only to discover that his way was barred by a wall of samurai.  
  
Yamcha could have escaped easily, but the situation piqued his interest. He'd remained, and been stunned only a moment later when the ancient sensei he'd bested a day previous emerged from the warriors with an explanation of their conduct. According to the master, any who bested a member of the elitist dojo was inducted into the school, ensuring the kendo school never lacked mighty warriors. Therefore, Yamcha would have to remain.  
  
Eventually, he'd conceded to their request and become a member, spending the past six months honing his skills and relearning the way of the sword. In a way, the occurrence was the best thing that could have happened to him. Yamcha was among people who neither knew nor cared about his past in an area bereft of reporters -- a group he'd collectively begun to despise. He'd felt no need to reenter the outside world; he was perfectly happy where he was -- until now.  
  
The disappearance of dozens of kis in an instant had reawakened something within Yamcha. An instinct to protect, undermined by a decade of helplessness, pushed itself up into his conscious mind. There were people being killed by a force greater than they could hope to combat. Human beings were being slaughtered. Just like Piccolo, Vegeta , Freeza, Cell and all the other foes who had coldly murdered thousands to sate some perverse desire for death: even though he'd come to detest much of his race, Yamcha would not allow it.  
  
Normally, his friends would handle something like this. He couldn't hope to compare to Super Saiyan power. The power he detected in Satan City, however, was well within his limits. The new arrival might have given the Ginyu Force a run for their money, but three years of intense training for Cell, and the previous six months, regaining his old strength and more, had forged Yamcha into a warrior of far greater capabilities than the elite team could ever hope to match.  
  
As he flew over Satan City, ignoring the glances -- both awed and scornful -- directed towards him, the former bandit, baseball player and planetary defender prepared himself for his first real battle in eleven long years. Unleashing a high-powered Kamehameha as soon as he was within range of his opponent, the orange-clad figure meticulously strode towards the rubble strewn building into which the green-skinned recipient of his opening assault had crashed. The kendo practitioner gazed at his trusty katana -- forged long before he ever met Goku -- and smiled grimly. He could still turn back on reality and return to hiding from his life in a timeworn dojo. That would always be an option. Hopefully, hiding was an option he could forsake. Yamcha had made the choice to live; he would deal with the consequences.  
  
***  
  
As Videl's jet copter approached the part of the city her communicator indicated was the source of the transmission from that green creep, she involuntarily flinched at the devastation she saw. "It looks like a bomb went off," she thought, as her eyes widened at the approaching scene. "Scratch that. Its more like a hundred bombs. What could have possibly caused this much destruction."  
  
Landing, and recapsulizing her vehicle, Videl surveyed the mounting devastation. Chunks of rubble as large as cars were strewn about the district from the collapse of a quartet of sky scrapers. The streets were bereft of human life, yet no corpses were immediately visible. From the burn marks in the area, it almost looked as if a series of high yield laser weapons were fired. Analytically, Videl filed the information away; she could save her grief for a later time. Energy weaponry would at least account for the lack of bodies present. However, she still had no answer for the big question -- even as Videl took note of the flaming wreckage of police cars one hundred metres to her left: what could have possibly wrought such ruin and where was it now. Then she saw them.  
  
A pair of figures blurred in and out of sight at speeds beyond comprehension. One was obviously the creature who had spoken with her earlier, but the identity of the other was less clear. He was obviously human and male, with dark black hair that matched her own, but at the intense velocities the stranger moved at, she could discern little else. He was, however, winning, and doing so with ease.  
  
The man stopped momentarily to release a taunt. "Is that the best you've got, murderer. We both know that your ki steadily decreasing; even immortality can't stop that. Why don't you just give up." Then, raising his right hand, which now glowed an unearthly blue, he screamed, "Soukidan!" With that single word, the blue corona solidified into an aquamarine ball of energy and shot towards the sphere's target: the smaller of the two fighters.  
  
Showing seemingly impossible grace, the attack's target dodged with a mid-air somersault. His foe barely noted the movement, as he reversed the ball's direction with an abrupt movement of his forefinger. The inhuman midget saw his adversary drop flat and smirk in his direction. The green man looked behind him -- big mistake.   
  
The energy attack plowed into the unprepared, goblinesque creature's flank like a charging rhino. Sent flying through a building and at least fifty feet into the ground, Videl was confident the diminutive demon would be dead. She yelled at the remaining battler to come down and explain himself. He did land, but not to submit to the teenage girl's request.  
  
"Young lady, get out of here now. This guy's way out of your league. If you remain, you'll be a liability on the battlefield. I can't afford the distraction right now."  
  
All through the man's -- who she now clearly identified as the baseball star Yamcha -- perceived insults, Videl had been fuming. This sad excuse for a martial artist -- so pitiful he had to resort to elaborate deceptions -- was ordering her to leave a crisis in the city she protected. How dare he. Her face coloured scarlet and steam practically pouring from her ears, the prodigal martial artist fumed and decided that, as soon as this jerk shut his big mouth, she was going to tear into him with a vengeance. Yamcha's request ended.  
  
"How dare you suggest I can't help just because I don't use your cheap tricks. I'm the second best martial artist on this planet, after my father, and no man is going to order me anywhere! Do you understand?" Her cutting rant ended, but that didn't mean that Yamcha was given the opportunity to offer a retort. "Besides, whoever that guy was, he's dead. No one survives that sort of impact."  
  
Yamcha had listened enough. Normally very calm and self-possessed, there were few things that angered him; this girl had managed to strike on quite a few of his pet peeves. First off, she was hopelessly arrogant in a way that reminded him of Vegeta. Reminding the former bandit of his failures was always a sure method for getting blasted to Enma's office. Furthermore, she had insulted his martial abilities: something he'd become far more sensitive to since the aftermath of the Cell debacle. Finally, the fact that nothing but ignorance and unwarranted assumptions backed up her claims he found infuriating. That trait was what led to ninety percent of the difficulties in his life and he'd come to despise those who possessed said flaw in their characters. He'd been trying to be reasonable; Vegeta would have just picked her up and hurled the girl a few miles away. Yamcha had had enough. Then the ground exploded violently all around the duo.  
  
Garlic, leg less and missing at least one hand, ascended from the centre of the giant crater he'd created. His limbs already reforming themselves, he released a foreboding cackle. Yamcha grimaced. "Are you hard of hearing, puny mortal? I can't be killed! Yet, even so, your attack caused me considerable discomfort. So I've decided to show you something I was saving for the little runt."   
  
Bolts of lightning crackled all around Garlic as he charged up, summoning the depth of his powers. "This technique took almost a decade to perfect, human. Enjoy." Finally, his power condensed into a ball not unlike Vegeta's false moon, save that the sphere was red -- blood red. "Pseudo Makyo Star." Before anyone could move to stop it, the ball shot straight up into the air and Garlic began to grow larger... much larger.  
  
Yamcha desperately stretched out his senses, hoping to detect one of his friends nearby. Before, Garlic junior had been a joke compared to him. Without his immortality, the little gnome would have died a dozen times in their previous combat, but now... Garlic's power increased a half-dozen times over, dwarfing Yamcha's. This fight had just become serious and, as far as he could tell, the second weakest Z warrior was going it alone.   
  
Then, like a candle in an inferno, the bandit felt a faint energy signature: about as strong as Nappa had been. It was Gohan! For some reason, he hadn't emerged yet, but the demi-Saiyan powerhouse was quite close by -- scarcely two miles away. There was a problem, however. The teen's ki was not concealed, but in its rest state; he was either sleeping or unconscious. Yamcha couldn't spare the attention necessary to seek out his friend from watching Garlic and didn't want to draw the now gargantuan demon away from this currently uninhabited part of the city.   
  
He was about to take the chance and fly towards Gohan when he again noted the pushy young woman who had challenged him. She stared in disbelief, slack-jawed, at the spectacle. Of course! The girl could get Gohan! If he could just word his request so as not to offend her...  
  
"You were right, young lady. I just might need your help after all, but not to fight." Videl simply nodded, mutely.   
  
"You see that building over there." He pointed to Orange Star High School. "There's no way I can do any more than hold this guy off for a few minutes, but in there there's someone who can stop this monster. I need you to find Son Gohan."   
  
With that, Yamcha shot off once again, yelling, "Shin Roga Fufu-ken." A blur of fists and feet, he mercilessly assaulted his foe, breaking the sound barrier with each movement. Momentarily, the battle seemed to turn in his favour, but then an uppercut interrupted the set moves, disrupting his pattern... Then a powerful two foot strike collided with the orange gi clad figure's gut and he went flying into the ground on a twenty degree angle. The resultant trench stretched almost a mile.   
  
With a supreme effort, Yamcha focused his ki to strengthen his vocal chords. "Go!" The scream echoed all across the city, breaking Videl from her reverie.  
  
"Gohan, but how could he help? Oh well, if he wants Gohan, he'll get Gohan. Hmmm... I wonder. Maybe Gohan's the gold fighter. That would certainly explain some things." Anymore thoughts of Videl's would have to wait for later, however, as the daughter of Mr. Satan reached Orange Star High. Quickly, she ascended the stairs, checking her watch out of habit. "Wow! Only two minutes for that distance. That's my best time yet." Then, she pushed those thoughts away as well, focusing on her objective once more. "Gohan'd better not be a heavy sleeper."  
  
***  
  
A haze of exhaustion enshrouded Gohan's conscious mind. The half-Saiyan had no difficulty detecting kis, even in his sleep, but the implications of those pieces of information were lost upon him. In many ways, the condition would have reminded the veteran warrior of how his father had described his experiences in the regeneration tank on Namek, had the napping student been aware enough to make such a conclusion.  
  
Unfortunately, Gohan was nowhere near the aforementioned level of analytical thought. Rather, the Son child simply slept through the mini earthquakes that rocked the city. Even throwing a bucket of water on the teen had failed to rouse him. Instead of planning a counter attack, or rushing to his long-time friend's aide, Gohan simply thought dreamily, "Wow, Garlic and Yamcha are sparring. Its good there getting along so well. Last time Garlic junior freed himself from the dead zone, he wasn't very nice."   
  
Random thoughts of past and present flitted across the boy's subconscious. Nothing could have awoken Son Gohan at that moment, save one irresistible power: the voice of his mother. Chi Chi was not available at the moment, however. One Videl Satan was, though, and if her voice lacked the potency of the Son matriarch's declarations, then it at least came darn close: close enough to awaken a sleeping Saiyan and then some.  
  
"Son Gohan! If you don't get up right now, I'm going to kill you!"  
  
Faster than her trained eyes could hope to follow -- to Videl's annoyance -- Gohan sprang up and began desperately bowing and begging for forgiveness. "I'm so sorry mom. I promise I won't ever sleep in again. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sor-" then he noticed who he was bowing to and sweat dropped. "You're not mom, are you."  
  
Videl huffed and glared at him. "No, I'm not."  
  
Gohan rubbed his head sheepishly and hazarded a silly grin. Videl ignored her classmate's antics pointedly. "Normally, I'd ask what that demonstration was about, but right now I've got bigger problems. You see Gohan, there's this little, er, formerly little green creature laying waste to Satan City. Furthermore, the only person who's been able to last against said creature so far specifically requested that I seek you out and I want to know wh-" She stopped abruptly, as she noticed her target had vanished. "Grrrrr... when I find you Son Gohan..." She let the thought trail off, leaving her threat open ended as she considered the many ways she'd heard of to slowly torture and maim. "And then you're going to explain how the hell you just moved so fast."  
  
***  
  
Erasa watched the battle unfolding before her in a detached manner. Standing atop the highest remaining building in the two mile radius, the blonde demon gazed indifferently at the titanic conflict. In her opinion, the obliteration of downtown Satan City was inconsequential, as was the maniacal green fool her lord had procured. All that mattered right now was the collection of useful information.  
  
The scarred human who had confronted Garlic was noteworthy. Though the man lacked considerable power, his battle savvy made the most of his ki. Compared to Garlic, the currently smaller warrior was a tactical genius and, furthermore, his actions were instinctual; the mortal obviously possessed a wealth of battle experience.  
  
Charging up his signature attack with one hand, while deflecting a flurry of blows with his ki-charged katana held in the other, the infidel maintained both an offence and defence effectively against a far superior opponent. The orange-clad stranger was singed, burnt in some places and badly bruised, but none of his ligaments were broken or torn off after almost five minutes of single combat. Erasa's respect for the unknown meddler rose another notch as she noticed that he was gazing at her intermittently; not only was he fending off Garlic, but the man remained on guard for other threats as well. Impressive. She would have to report this one. Then her true target arrived.  
  
Like a Grecian deity out of myth, Gohan charged, the golden aura of his Super Saiyan form illuminating even the darkest corners of Satan City. "Enough!" A right hook flashed out faster than any on the battlefield could follow, sending Garlic sprawling.   
  
"All I wanted was a little sleep, but nooooooo. You just had to go and attack the city, didn't you?" The demi-Saiyan punctuated each word with a bone-crushing blow. Through gritted teeth the he finished: "You villains never learn. You might destroy a few buildings or gain a minor victory, but you never win. You. Can't. Win."   
  
Around the teen aged guardian of Satan City the surrounding golden corona began to intensify, lightning crackling at the most intense spots. "You may be immortal Garlic, but let's see how well you hold up in vacuum."  
  
The energy gathered at a single point and formed into an inferno of blue flames. For the first time in a decade, Garlic Junior felt genuine fear. "Masenko Ha!" The artfully engineered beam impacted with its intended target, but did not explode. Rather, the beam began to carry him up, miles beyond the atmosphere, until he reached the void that separated Earth from the planet's neighbouring solar systems. Son Gohan dropped his hands to his sides, breathing slightly harder than before and gradually flew over to his friend. The battle was over.  
  
***  
  
  
  
Videl Satan watched the news wearing a perpetual scowl. Once again, proof of the golden fighter's identity had eluded her. Doubtless Son Gohan knew the mysterious warrior's identity -- or was perhaps the super hero himself -- but without evidence of his identity, speculation would prove fruitless.  
  
The other fighter -- Yamcha -- was an even greater anomaly. She had never realized he was any kind of serious martial artist -- just a baseball player -- before that night. However, minimal research had uncovered a plethora of martial accomplishments. The perpetual underachiever was a three time Tenachi Budokai finalist who seemed to always have the bad luck of facing one of the tournament's finest in the first round; he had faced two eventual champions and a man who some claimed was Kami-sama in disguise. That speculation was utterly ludicrous of course.  
  
Even so, it became apparent that the master of the Wolf Fang Fist was no pushover. He was a high calibre martial artist who could no doubt make even her father sweat. Yamcha was also -- reportedly -- in attendance during the alien invasion and Cell Games. Perhaps he could give her a full account of the events that took place after the cameras went out. That was if she ever found him again.  
  
The scarred warrior had disappeared in recent years, after a flurry of lawsuits and condemnations. This was the middle-aged man's first appearance for sixteen months; she doubted that he would be seen again anytime soon.   
  
There was one thing she had gathered from the reports of his prowess that confused Videl. Yamcha was listed as one of Earth's most formidable martial arts masters, but nowhere near the top of that list. All accounts agreed -- including one she'd obtained from her father -- that Son Goku, Piccolo Damaio Jr, or even Tien could quite easily carve the weapon user up. Not even they could have caused the extreme damage Yamcha's combat precipitated, without extreme effort, however. Short of atomic weapons, Videl knew of no way to cause such devastation; what she saw were no tricks. That realization left her to ponder another question of equal import: if Yamcha has become formidable enough to destroy a city, what sort of abilities do the other fighters of the Budokais now command?  
  
Perhaps her father had trained intensively to combat these powers, but, if so, she'd seen no evidence of said training. Even if her father was the strongest man on the Earth seven years ago, she doubted that position was still his. Yamcha, the gold fighter and anyone else in possession of comparable powers was a significant threat to the world at large. They could just as easily destroy as defend -- the monster who'd assaulted their city had proved that. Letting the vigilantes run wild would be a critical mistake for a crime fighter of her calibre. They could not be trusted. The news anchors echoed Videl's views.   
  
"A tragedy of epic proportions occurred today, as a result of a battle between super-powered vigilantes. Using what scientists hypothesize were small-scale atomic weapons, the vigilantes -- namely Yamcha, the golden fighter and an unknown, green-skinned figure destroyed more than a half-dozen blocks, costing an estimated one thousand lives. Fortunately, the sector's workers were on their respective lunch breaks, or else the death toll could have been significantly higher. The city has taken drastic measures, calling upon the head scientists of Capsule Corporation and other technological or defence services. The mayor is guaranteeing that the perpetrators will be captured and summarily executed. A reward of two hundred million zeni has been placed upon the heads of the gold fighter and former baseball player, Yamcha. Anyone with information regarding their whereabouts should phone 555-232-" Click. Videl turned the machine off.  
  
One person she knew certainly possessed the requested information. Son Gohan had shown that he could summon the Golden Warrior on a whim and Yamcha had requested that selfsame student by name. Her classmate obviously knew much about the situation which he chose to conceal. Withholding information from the police was a criminal offence.  
  
Videl was an understanding girl , however (at least she thought so), and would, therefore give Gohan one last chance to come clean. After all, he still had to show her how he'd pulled off that disappearing act earlier. Her suspect had missed the rest of the school day as well. Not that missing the afternoon had been uncommon today: half the Orange Star High's student body had left school early to check on loved ones or just leave an area so close to ground zero. Tomorrow Gohan had stated that he would be in attendance during the tryouts for the school's martial arts team. If he was a man of his word -- as she suspected -- her erstwhile acquaintance would follow through with the actions such a statement entailed. Fatum -- the other mysterious newcomer -- had agreed to join Gohan there. The appearance of the focuses of both her current investigations and inquiries was an excellent opportunity to get in some uninterrupted questioning. Even if they managed to evade her during the school day, neither would escape her in the ring. The martial arts was Videl's element. In a place of martial training, none could defeat or escape her. Son Gohan and Fatum Ultori's secrets were as good as hers. One more day.  
  
***  
  
Little is known to mortals of the beginning of existence. Some theorized regarding quantum singularities, paradoxes, or even divine intervention. The truth of the matter was even more startling than those hypotheses, however. In truth, not even the gods knew the truth of creation. Though the universes age -- over ten billion years -- was unquestioned, no deity could quite recall his, her, or its creation. In point of fact, the majority of the divine hierarchy could not recall any events before about two billion years ago. Those who could never spoke of their knowledge to any but one another, yet even they failed to discern creation. Even among these select few deities, no memories before the great war were in evidence.  
  
Dende was a rarity among the divine hierarchy. He was a mortal deity. The teenage Namek's memory still measured time in days months and years, while his mind could hardly fathom the thought of a century, let alone millennia. For this reason, Dende had always been somewhat of a joke among the Kamis. The majority of guardians spent aeons in meditation to hone their spiritual prowess preceding their ascension to agelessness at the very least. To these gods -- who had scorned Earth's previous Kami as well -- Dende was no more than an impetuous youngster. The child possessed the power to be the greatest of their number, but no more than that: potential. Most felt that he lacked the dedication to become their equal.   
  
As a result of the doubts of the Divine Council, Dende had thus far been ignored when dealing with matters of consequence. Whenever the Kaios or Kaioshin requested an operative, someone respected and with a wealth of experience was chosen -- not Dende. Even when the Council of Divinities learned of their junior members death, the matter was dismissed. Dende had been a good, if not particularly important god. Earth could get a new Kami. Certainly, the little Namek wouldn't mind being a cloud. Even if the youngest guardian did mind, the matter was of no consequence. That is to say, the matter was of no consequence until the East Kaioshin decided to specifically request the youth for a critical assignment.  
  
"No, no and no!" The purple skinned kaioshin was becoming extremely frustrated with the pompous, otherworldly bureaucracy. "I need Earth's guardian. No other god has the knowledge necessary to complete the mission. What do you mean you don't know where he is!?! Awaiting judgement!?!" Shin ground his teeth together menacingly at the lesser oni functioning as a clerk for the divinities. He was a Kaioshin! These sorts of thing were not supposed to happen to him.  
  
Muttering an oath, the highest surviving deity spun on his heel sharply. He looked up to his long-time advisor sagely. "Kibito, it appears that our friend is currently at Lord Enma's palace. Let's go." He placed a hand on his friends shoulder and the two disappeared.  
  
***  
  
Dende hated being a cloud. There was no halfway with the former guardian about that issue. He couldn't access any of his magical abilities -- not even his healing talent -- and no matter how many times he insisted he needed to speak with the Council of Divinities, none of the passing oni would listen. Apparently, they heard similar requests quite often. The afterlife was proving despicable in Dende's eyes and, as far as he could see, his current form was one of the contributing factors leading to his difficulties.  
  
Abruptly, he had two feet once more and was standing on them. For once, Dende even towered over someone. The purple-skinned figure facing the Namekian was almost childlike in appearance. There was, however, a wisdom in the stranger's eyes that belied his infantile aspects.  
  
"Hello. I am the East Kaioshin. If you wish, you may call me Shin, however." There was nothing demeaning in Shin's posture, or speech, but after hearing that declaration, the youthful healer and guardian felt once more like an inconsequential cloud-shape.  
  
AN: Well Dende's back. Garlic's out of the picture; he was not particularly important, save as a means to pushing the plot along. Things look to be reaching a head for Gohan, as foes on all side converge on him. Geez, let's check again. How many people does Gohan have against him now? There's the demons, Satan City, Videl, whatever Shin's come to talk about, Babidi, possibly Fatum, and some other stuff that only I know about. I almost feel sorry for the kid... almost. Anyway, sorry about the length between updates again, but there's not much I can do with school and other such difficulties. If you're wondering about Yamcha, he's going to remain a part -- if not a central part -- of the story, as I quite like the guy and feel the need for Gohan to have an ally who can't solve, or necessarily even help with, all his problems. I find the bandits a pretty neat character, as he's ridiculously powerful, but can't touch any of Earth's other special forces. It causes him to act a bit more cautiously than the others -- some would say more cowardly. As for Gohan's quick victory, what did you think was going to happen? There were very good reasons for prolonging that fight, but the fact is that SSJ Gohan vrs. mini Garlic is not the most intriguing of match-ups. I also wanted to remind people that, yes, the little green man may be pitiful by post-Cell standards, but is more than capable of annihilating a city, or even planetoid. Well, I guess I'm done now, except for the reviewer responses, of course.  
  
Responses to Reviewers:  
  
sir-maggot-freak: Thank you for your support. That's what keeps this story going, among other things.  
  
DarkPower1: Well I'm glad that more than just me feel that this is a neat way to take Gohan. Thanks for the review.  
  
SSJ5Tiger: Can't argue with "brilliantly written," but you'd best stop with all the praise. If I get much more, my head will probably get so big that it will explode. Thanks for the review; I appreciate everyone.  
  
Dreamwraith: I'm write beside you on the too many V/B and T/P fics. I understand the appeal of both pairings, but the same monotonous, cliched plot can only be used so many times before it becomes stale. Our pseudo Dende will eventually be found out, but I can't tell you who will discover his secret. Finally, the short green man is back and will be taking on more significant roles in coming chapters. Thanks for the review.  
  
reader: Well I can't argue about yours being an obscenely long review, but try to shorten it a little bit. After all, if your next review is much longer, it might outdo my chapters (as far as length is concerned). Then again, I can't argue with someone willing to spend so much time critiquing my work and your conclusions are generally valid so... meh. Write as much as you want. The line you pointed out about Videl's feelings is one of my favourites; you'll discover I love misleading readers. I'm all for someone who finds improvements in my writing and the cliched way I portrayed Sharpner was problematic. From now on, I'm going to work harder at him in particular; the guy's tough to portray. Fatum's fun, though he had a minimal role in this chapter. I think he is one character who -- in particular -- will surprise you. I think I used Garlic effectively, despite your misgivings. The little green man was a wonderful tension tightener. He also acted as a method to introduce Yamcha, who will be essential later. Concerning character and villain depth, I feel my "good guys" are generally plenty deep, but a horde of demons proves slightly harder to develop. I have some ideas, however, so don't let that concern you. My villains will have a fair mix of negative and positive characteristics. A hint: one of my favourite characteristics to tweak in villains is a sense of honour, or lack thereof. Finally, you are correct about noone being no one and I'll try to get that right from now on. Thank you for your continuing support. 


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